A Klingon in Middle Earth
by twin03
Summary: A transporter accident brings Worf into Middle Earth, where he accompanies the Fellowship on their Quest. Crossover: LOTRStar Trek. Alternate endings added. Story last updated 92102.
1. Prologue

**Author's note**: I will use the books and the movies interchangeably, depending on the individual situation.   
The chapter breaks are determined primarily by breaks in the story, so some chapters will be shorter than others (and may be quite short).   
Updates will be posted every day to two days.   
Where I have quoted directly from the books, I have tried to leave a reference. A reference does not necessarily imply that I have quoted word for word, only that I have quoted a significant amount of material.   
** Please review. **Reviews are very encouraging to authors, and are highly appreciated. 

**Rating: **PG-13 because of battle sequences. 

**Spoilers: **Only if you haven't read the books. 

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the characters. They belong to their respective creators. I am making no money from this. 

Ch. 1: Prologue 

Worf was tired, though he tried not to show it. The war with the Dominion was over. It had claimed many lives, not the least of which, his wife, Jadzia. Now he was returning to Qu'onos. The future seemed bleak; the Klingon Empire had fallen into dishonor. Worf didn't know if he could change anything, but his own sense of honor demanded that he try. A shuttle was waiting for him just off DS9. Preferring not to dock, the captain had requested he beam aboard so they could be off immediately. Walking toward the Ops transporter platform, he was greeted by a young Bajoran face, one he didn't recognize.   
"This is not your usual post, correct?" He asked the girl, who looked a little intimidated by the Klingon towering over her.   
"No, sir, it isn't. Chief O'Brien is working on repairs." Worf grimaced. Deep Space 9 was showing its age. The Cardassian systems broke down frequently, and their engineers were constantly trying to keep everything working. The girl nervously shifted her weight behind the console.   
"Very well. You have the coordinates, I assume." he replied, stepping onto the platform. She nodded confirmation. Worf carried no luggage save his bat'leth in its sling; the rest of his belongings had already been beamed to the shuttle. Worf nodded at the transporter operator to engage. Although the girl looked uncomfortable, she keyed the commands. Worf saw the familiar glimmer of blue light around him, but the room didn't fade. The transporter operator started to panic. Alternately praying to the Prophets and uttering words no one so young should know, she tried to correct the problem. The last thing Worf heard was, "Prophets preserve him!" 


	2. I'm a Klingon, not an Orc!

Ch. 2: I'm a Klingon, not an Orc! 

Worf awoke slowly. He lay in a small clearing near the edge of a forest. As he came to, he remembered the transporter accident. He didn't know where he was, but he was relatively unhurt. His bat'leth lay a few feet away at the base of the tallest tree Worf had ever seen. Rising to his feet, he retrieved the weapon and put it back in the sling on his back. From his vantage point atop a small hill, he could see a dirt road perhaps ten meters away. Hearing voices just out of his field of vision, Worf and silently removed his bat'leth from its sling and hid in the undergrowth. He crept toward the sound, and finally glimpsed the source of the voices.   
A group of various creatures camped just off the road. One appeared to be a Vulcan woman, another Human, and four were of a species Worf had never seen. They looked to him much like Human children, but their faces were clearly adult. A pony was tethered nearby, and the Vulcan woman held the reins of a white horse. Worf moved a little closer in order to hear their conversation. To Worf's surprise and relief, they were speaking Human Standard. Although he was too far away to hear the entire conversation, he caught enough to realize they were worried about something called Nazgûl and wondered if one of the little ones, called Frodo could ride the horse should the need arise. The Vulcan volunteered to take him if the Human could hold off the danger. The Human grimly agreed to this, but his doubts were obvious.   
The Vulcan's expression changed suddenly. She had heard something unnoticed to the others. She spoke quickly to the Man in a language Worf didn't understand, then mounted her horse. The Man lifted one of the little ones onto the horse in front of her and they rode off as quickly as the animal would carry them. The others were running after her – or was it away from something behind them? Glancing back, Worf saw what they had feared. There were five humanoid creatures in black capes, each riding a horse, uttering screams that were definitely not human. Worf could not see their flesh. Each held a sword. These were truly evil creatures; of that he had no doubt. They seemed to ooze evil just by their presence.   
Any prior hesitation to become involved in the affairs of these primitive creatures disappeared as he watched one of the little ones stumble to the ground. The black creatures would trample him and the man could not turn in time to help. Worf exploded from the forest with a battle cry, swept his bat'leth across the lead horse's front legs, and grabbled the fallen creature. The horse reared before the weapon could connect, but the delay was enough. He took off toward the others at a full run, grabbing another of the little ones who had fallen behind. The Man jumped from the path into heavy undergrowth and Worf followed his lead. To his utter shock the black horsemen simply rode past them.   
Putting the little ones on their feet, he turned to face the Man and was shocked to see him draw his sword. Worf readied his bat'leth faster than the Man had thought possible, judging from his expression. "Coward," Worf spat. "You draw a weapon on one who has just saved your companions?"   
"What are you? You appear to be an Orc, but your actions speak otherwise." They eyed each other warily.   
"I have never heard of Orcs. I am Worf, son of Mogh. I am Klingon." These were primitives, he reminded himself, and they had probably never seen an extra-terrestrial. Their confusion was natural. This thought alone quieted his anger.   
The Man lowered his sword. "Well, Worf, it would seem I have little choice but to trust you. I thank you for your aid. I am called Strider" Worf sheathed his bat'leth. The others, the human said, were Hobbits, named Sam, Merry and Pippin. The Hobbits didn't appear to entirely trust the human, especially the one called Sam. Frodo had gone ahead with the Elf Arwen. When questioned about his presence in this strange place, Worf simply told them he didn't understand how he had gotten there. At this, Aragorn suggested he accompany them to a place called Rivendell, and Worf agreed. 


	3. Rivendell

Updated 9-6-02

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. I appreciate the feedback. The software has eaten the second space between sentences, and I am not going to try to fix it (too much work), but beyond that, please let me know about any punctuation errors, etc. you see. I have tried to edit carefully, and I will go back and fix any errors. To address the Klingon/Orc issue: I know Worf doesn't really look like an Orc, but I think in the eyes of ME residents, he resembles an Orc more than anything else in their experience. 

Ch. 3: Rivendell 

They soon reached the city of Rivendell, after fording the River Bruinen. This city was populated by Elves, a race that, at first, looked much like Vulcans, but was very much distinct. They were tall and graceful. They accepted his presence, but with scarcely veiled distrust. Strider spoke quietly with a messenger in the same language he had used with Arwen. He turned and told the others that Frodo and Arwen had in fact reached Rivendell safely, and that Frodo was sleeping.   
The Hobbits went with the messenger to see their friend. Strider and Worf were escorted to Elrond, the lord of Rivendell. With Elrond was an ancient Human whose clothing reminded Worf of the old Human custom of Halloween. Not even Garak could have designed something so outrageous. Elrond greeted Strider by the name Aragorn, and Aragorn addressed the old man as Gandalf. Elrond seemed unsurprised by Worf. Although he appeared young by Human or Vulcan standards, his eyes held a wisdom he had seen before only in Jadzia. It was as if he had experienced more than most beings would see in ten lifetimes. Worf got the impression that even ten lifetimes of humans would be a short span to this being.   
As Worf explained as much as he could of the accident that had brought him to this place, he waited for skepticism from Elrond and Gandalf. To his surprise, they seemed to accept the story. After a few moments' pause, Gandalf spoke. "The Wise have some knowledge of such things, but I had never thought to see it myself. It has been many ages since the like has occurred. Well, welcome to Middle Earth. Forgive the cold reception, but as you have discovered, you most resemble an Orc, an evil creature that is feared by all the free peoples of Middle Earth. You will have to earn the trust of those you meet. The very fact that you speak civilly and intelligently to us is enough to convince me you are no Orc, and were it not, your story would be. You must have many questions. I will try to answer some of them, but most of them may wait for the Council, which is to be held in a few days, for we all have questions. I fear you have come into a dark time, indeed." With that, Gandalf explained a little of the history of Middle Earth, especially as it concerned the Nazgûl and Frodo's errand. Worf was amazed that they trusted him with such critical information, especially after the cold reception, but they seemed to trust him, anyway.   
Worf spent several days getting acclimated to his surroundings—learning his way around, learning a little more of its history from the Elves, many of whom had lived the histories they told, and meeting the other races who had arrived for Elrond's council. They were skeptical of him at first, but generally came to a cautious peace. The food was good, if not really his style. He had eaten far worse. Years in Starfleet had acquainted him with more different culinary styles than he had ever wanted to experience.  
While waiting, Worf also met many of the people in Rivendell. He learned a little more about Aragorn—the heir to an ancient throne, he had grown up in Rivendell, and still had made no claim to his ancestral title. To Worf, it seemed like a coward's path, but already experience had proven Aragorn was no coward. There was a contradiction in him that was not easily resolved, but also a royalty that lay veiled just beneath the surface. Were he ever to assume his ancestral throne, he would be one of the greatest leaders Worf had ever known. The little ones knew the Man as Strider, the Ranger. The Rangers were treated with contempt by the ignorant, but, like Aragorn, they were the last of a noble race, that of Númenor, seemingly human, yet living three times a normal human's lifespan. More subtle was the relationship between Aragorn and Arwen. Worf was puzzled by the interaction. Cross-species relationships were not common in his world, but they certainly were not unheard of. He was a prime example of that. It was when he heard the story of Luthien and Beren that he finally understood. Arwen would have to sacrifice her immortality to marry Aragorn, and for an immortal race, as for any long-lived race, an early death was one of the greatest tragedies imaginable.  
Like Elrond, the other Elves held a timeless wisdom, but they were lonely. Many of their people had left (to where, Worf didn't quite understand, but it sounded like another continent, but passage between the two was difficult and one-way), and their race was fading out of this continent, slowly but surely. They reminded him a little of the wormhole aliens—outside of time. The years wore on them little, but the rest of the world changed swiftly around them. Many of their friends and companions were gone, and this, too, weighed heavily on them, giving them an air of melancholy. Despite all this, the Elves were a gracious, seemingly contented people. There was such complexity in their culture, enhanced by millenia of history remembered as if it were only a few years distant, that an outsider would probably never understand it. Things as they were, Worf learned what he could, and appreciated the Elven culture (and its people), even if he didn't fully understand it.  
  


  



	4. Elrond's council

A/N: Again, thanks for the reviews. Chapter 3 was poorly done, and I apologize for that. I have updated it, adding another paragraph at the end, which hopefully helps a bit.  
Arynetrek, my reasoning behind the cross-species relationship comment takes into account the society as a whole, rather than just Starfleet, stations, etc. I am assuming that it is more common for a human to marry another human, a Klingon to marry a Klingon, etc. rather than someone of another species, especially while living on their respective homeworlds. If you feel that this reasoning is flawed, I apologize, and I hope you'll pardon the comment.  
Finch, I know the chapters are short. When I broke the story into chapters, I chose to keep the chapters short rather than quite long. I may post multiple chapters when they are very short.  
  


Ch. 4: Elrond's council 

The days were filled with great learning, but they quickly grew long. Elrond's council brought a break from the boredom. Worf was surprised when he was asked to attend. He was not a native of the planet, nor a dignitary, and most of the people of the planet seemed wary of him. He dressed in native clothing, a gift of the Elves, but carried his bat'leth in its sling on his back. Some of what was said he had heard already, but the pieces finally began to come together. As he sat and listened, he reflected on the people present. There were representatives of each of the free peoples of Middle Earth. The Dwarves seemed none too happy to be in the realm of the Elves. Some ancient feud divided the two races. The Dwarves were small, but strong, easily capable of holding their own in a fight. The Elves were elegant, immortal, but sad. Their kind was passing out of Middle Earth. Soon their time would come to an end. It was as Gandalf said—the hope of Middle Earth now rested on Men. Several human warriors were present at the council. Noble and tall, they took great pride in their defense of the land against the evil of Mordor. They held up the blood of their slain as a badge of honor, for their land was near to Mordor, and the first to be attacked.   
Elrond called for the ring, and Frodo placed it on a pedestal in the center of the room. One of the humans, Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, stood and spoke. He wanted to use the ring as a weapon against Mordor. He was proud, and thought himself capable of wielding the ring and using it to defend Gondor. Aragorn spoke and told him it could not be used, but the Man would not listen to the heir to Gondor's throne. Gondor had long been without a king, and the son of its steward wanted no king. Worf watched the confrontation silently, not sure of what to think. The ring was evil—of that there was no doubt. Only one without honor would try to use something so evil for good. It would corrupt the good done with it. Boromir knew who it was who spoke, but he would not honor his king—a king who had never even attempted to take his throne. The man backed down when Elrond stepped in, insisting that the ring must be destroyed. The Dwarf Gimli leapt to his feet and struck it with his axe, but rather than harming the ring, the axe was destroyed, breaking into thousands of pieces. Worf's impression was that no weapon, not even the Sword of Kah'less (or a disruptor, for that matter), would harm this evil thing.   
When the fellowship began to form, Worf held back, not wanting to interfere. He smiled to himself when Sam burst out of his hiding place, followed by the other hobbits, and at Elrond's mock anger. Worf had been aware of them the whole time, and he was sure the Elf lord had known they were there, too. Gandalf stood by Frodo, and Aragorn knelt before him and offered his sword. Standing, Aragorn glanced at Worf and saw his desire to join them with a comprehension usually reserved to telepaths. The Man motioned him forward with a tilt of his head. Worf stood, walked over to Frodo, and then dropped to one knee, laying his bat'leth before the small figure. "I defended you once, and I will not turn aside now. You have my bat'leth and my word of honor that I will do what I may to help you on your quest." Frodo, more than a little overwhelmed, just nodded.   
They were joined by the Elf Legolas, the Dwarf Gimli, and the Man Boromir. Worf had to wonder at Boromir's motives. As he came forward, he said that Gondor would see the task done, but there was something that made Worf nervous—hidden behind his eyes was a desire for the ring that would only become greater with time spent near it. The human was strong, but Worf wondered if he was strong enough to resist this temptation. Awkward, too, would be the interaction with Aragorn—would he accept the man as his king, or turn away completely? There were so many questions, but Worf's musings were soon interrupted.   
Elrond spoke, "The Company of the Ring shall be Ten; and the Ten walkers shall be set against the Nine Riders that are evil." ¹ With that, the Fellowship of the Ring was formed. Aragorn's ancestral sword was re-forged. Narsil, the blade that was broken when Isildur defeated Sauron ages before, was remade into Andúril, and carried by Isildur's heir. Other preparations were also made. Worf was introduced to horse riding. It was new to him, but he learned quickly. Some of the elves tried to teach him to use a bow and arrows, and he could manage, but he still preferred the bat'leth. He found that the weapon was well suited to fighting on horseback, but even that was of only moderate consolation as he realized the task ahead of them. It would take a miracle to succeed. More likely, the attempt would be a certain death. At least it would be an honorable one. The thought was almost comforting. Worf was ready to pass into Sto-Vo-Kor and finally rest, but he would not take a coward's way out; the task set before them gave him a reason to continue, even if it was hopeless. At least it was an opportunity to live (or die) with honor.

¹ p. 330 The Fellowship of the Ring, with "Nine" changed to "Ten"

  



	5. Caradhas

A/N: Aryne, I finally understand your point (sorry it took so long). I have changed the wording to better reflect my intended meaning. Thanks for your input on that. By the way, I have updated my software, and I can now get the spaces to work correctly without a lot of extra work. As always, please let me know if there are any grammar, punctuation, etc. errors.

  
Ch. 5: Caradhas 

The day came to leave, and Worf dressed again in his Klingon armor, covered with a cloak from the Elves. In his pack, he carried the clothing he had been given by the Elves. Spirits were low; only the pony Bill wasn't depressed. Sam muttered something about rope. The hour was late, and the darkness was disconcerting to those who didn't know the land, Worf included. The days drug on; the Hobbits were exhausted, and didn't hesitate to let it be known. Worf was also unaccustomed to walking so much, but a warrior does not complain. After a few days, he grew accustomed to the rigors of the trail, but the little ones still struggled. He did what he could to aid them, frequently taking more than his share of the gear, but it was still difficult for them.   
After two weeks, they came to the mountains. At Boromir's advice, they packed firewood. Worf still didn't know what to think of the Man, but Boromir's practicality impressed him. The journey had bettered his opinion of the Man, but Worf was still wary of him. The party began to climb the mountain. The snow seemed unusually heavy for such a low elevation, but not knowing the planet's climate, Worf said nothing. He was already chilled to the bone, and didn't look forward to any more cold. The others were quick to blame magic and their great Enemy. It seemed like idle superstition, but when the storm grew so intense and the snow so deep they were stopped in their places, the idleness of the idea faded in the reality of the storm. Worf was not the only one chilled, but the firewood was damp, and none save Gandalf could get the it to light. When the wizard used his staff to light the firewood, Worf was even further confused. There was no obvious technology, and the flames that came from the staff were green and blue. Not sure what to think, Worf just enjoyed the warmth of the fire.   
As morning came, the group made the decision to turn back. It bothered Worf to admit defeat, but there was no other way. Along with Aragorn and Boromir, Worf helped to clear a path through the snow, while Legolas walked atop it ahead of them. That was the last straw. Worf's belief in science and a normally operating universe, weak since he came to this place, finally crumbled. Scientific principles seemed to have no place in this strange world. With that realization, the strangeness of the world actually seemed to abate a little. As strength began to wane and the three began to grow weak, Legolas returned with a report that they were almost through the snow. The snow ended quite abruptly, not like a natural storm. Even with the path they had cut, they still had to carry the little ones through it, and Gimli rode on the pony. Only moments after they left, an avalanche covered the very place where they had been.   
There was some discussion, and Gandalf suggested the Mines of Moria. Worf knew nothing of the place, but the look on the others' faces told him enough. Even Boromir and Aragorn quailed at the mention of the mines. While they still sat debating, the howling of wolves made the decision for them. Worf saw no particular need to fear animals, even wolves, but in this strange land, anything could be an enemy. They climbed a small hill and built a fire, and none too soon. The wolves soon attacked. The pack leader started to attack, but was killed by one of Legolas' arrows. For the hundredth time, Worf wished for a phaser. The wolves withdrew, only to attack later in great numbers. Worf woke from a light doze and had his bat'leth in his hand before he was on his feet. He beheaded one of the creatures with a swipe, then another jumped at him. He held the blade before him at arm's length and allowed the Warg's own momentum to cut it neatly in half. He threw off the carcass and continued to fight. Aragorn and Boromir fought with their swords, Gimli with his axe, and Legolas with his bow. As they fought, Gandalf seemed to grow; he spoke words in a language Worf could not understand, and a tree burst into flame. Legolas had just shot his last arrow, and it burst into flame in midair, before finding its mark in a large Warg. The remaining wolves fled.

  



	6. Moria

A/N: Hi! Thanks for all the reviews. I appreciate every one. 

Ch. 6: Moria 

When morning came, there were no wolf carcasses. The only evidence of the battle was the charred tree and Legolas' arrows. One of them was burned, leaving only the head. The party hurried on toward Moria. Gimli was like a child at Christmas, so eager was he to reach the mines, but the others were apprehensive. Listening to the conversation, Worf learned that the land had changed much—and not for the better. The stream that had been strong was now dry. They reached the walls of the Mine at sunset, but there was no door visible. The lake by the door was dank and foul. Worf was hard-pressed to contain his frustration. They divided up the baggage and sent the pony off. Gandalf found the location of the door, then had to intervene as Legolas and Gimli brought up an age-old feud between the Dwarves and Elves. Worf had heard a little of this, but not yet experienced it. He wondered what had been the start of it. He was familiar with feuds that lasted many generations, but this was as intense as any he had seen. Keeping the peace between them was like mediating between quarreling children.   
Gandalf spoke some quiet words, and a gate appeared. On the door were the words, "Speak, friend, and enter."¹ Gandalf tried many passwords to try to enter and then became frustrated. At Frodo's question, Gandalf laughed and spoke the Elvish word for friend, "Mellon". It was not the complex, but the obvious that was the answer. As they entered the mines, Frodo was seized from behind by an enormous, octopus-like creature, but with many, many more arms. Aragorn and Boromir hacked at the arms with their swords, and Worf slashed at the tentacle holding Frodo with his bat'leth. Aragorn caught the Hobbit and ran for the gates. After slicing off another arm that was trying to pull him under, Worf followed. The thing threw the gates closed behind them, and a great rockslide closed them in.   
The party paused to catch its breath and eat a little, and Frodo asked, "What was the thing, Gandalf?"   
The wizard's reply chilled Worf to the bone. "There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world."² Judging from the reaction he'd gained, Orcs seemed bad enough. If there were too many more creatures like that Watcher, none of them would survive the mines.   
As the party began its march, both Gandalf and Frodo drew the swords. Aragorn explained that the Elvish blades would glow blue if Orcs were near. Gimli and Gandalf took the lead, Gandalf lighting the way with light from his staff. Worf was beginning to realize that this being had a power far beyond his experience and understanding. Aragorn took the rear, and Worf walked just ahead of him. Sam prattled on about having no rope and worried about the pony. Frodo felt as if something were following them, and though he heard nothing, Worf couldn't entirely shake the feeling, either. They came to a three-way branch in the tunnel, and Gandalf grew confused; they rested while he deliberated about the path. Abruptly, he spoke, "It's that way! The air's fresher that way. When in doubt, always follow your nose!"³   
After some further journey, they came to a chamber that was itself lit, by light from deep shafts, bringing sunlight into the Mines. In that chamber, they found the tomb of Balin, son of Fundin. As Gimli grieved, Gandalf picked up a book laying nearby. Blowing off some of the dust that covered it, he read words that were little encouragement: "We cannot get out…The Watcher in the Water took Óin…drums, drums in the deep…they are coming." 4   
As Gandalf was reading, Pippin wandered over to a well and touched the skeleton sitting on the edge. The slight movement was enough to send the thing into the well with a crash that echoed through the Mines. Gandalf grew angrier than Worf had thought possible. "Fool of a Took! Next time throw yourself in and rid of your stupidity!"³ The drums grew louder, ominous and evil. 

¹ p. 356, Fellowship of the Ring   
² p. 369, Fellowship of the Ring   
³ Fellowship of the Ring movie   
4 p. 383, Fellowship of the Ring


	7. Many battles

Updated 9-9-02: I have re-worked the last several paragraphs (see the chapter 8 Author's Note). 

A/N: This is another short chapter. On average, they will be somewhat longer after this. I will double up very short chapters so the updates won't be quite as short (after this chapter). I edited chapter 5 with a small grammatical correction (no change in content), but I'm having trouble with fanfiction.net and will upload this change as soon as I am able. Thanks to everyone who is reading this and for the reviews!   


Ch. 7: Many battles 

After a moment, a great boom sounded. They were soon under siege by Orcs. There were both the smaller Moria orcs and the large, black Uruks from Mordor. To top it all off, there was a gigantic cave troll. They wedged the door shut, but could have been straw for all it did to stop the troll. Boromir took a swing at it and succeeded only in notching his sword. Worf, too, took a swing at it, but the bat'leth bounced off. Frodo stabbed at it with his Elven sword, Sting, and injured its foot. Soon Orcs poured into the chamber. Worf at once understood why he was mistaken for one and offended that he was ever compared to these evil things. He decapitated two with one swing of his bat'leth. Legolas started with his bow and arrows, but soon had to use the knives he carried. Sam soon lost his sword, and took to fighting with a frying pan. Worf had to smile, even as brought his bat'leth down on the head of an Orc, splitting the thing's head in two, then took a swing another that was trying to sneak up behind Gimli. The swing removed its sword arm and the blade stuck in the thing's side. Worf punched the thing in the temple with his free hand, then put his foot against the thing and pulled the weapon out, before turning to find another opponent.   
The troll went after Frodo, and struck him with a huge spear. The hobbit screamed, then went still. Time seemed to stop for a moment. Worf found himself beside Legolas, and he fought off the Orcs approaching them. Freed from defending himself, the Elf shot an arrow directly into the Troll's mouth and the thing was finally felled. Worf picked up Frodo's still form, only to be told to "put me down!" He had only been stunned, not dead as they had assumed. They fled the chamber, and the Orcs did not pursue. Something had frightened them off. Gandalf sent them ahead with the cry that swords would be of no more use, then rejoined them a few minutes later, falling to the floor, shaken and exhausted; he had met his match and just barely survived. Worf knew he was out of his league, and respected the wizard more yet; he was a warrior, too, in his own way.   
As the Fellowship approached the Bridge, arrows flew over their heads. Worf was glad of the armored clothing he wore, even though it was heavy. Even so, an arrow grazed his arm. Soon, they came to the bridge, and all their worst fears seemed to come true as they were attacked by a Balrog. Gandalf yelled at them to cross the bridge. He stood against it, but was dragged into the abyss with the evil thing. His last cry was, "Fly, you fools!" ¹   
Frodo screamed, "NO!" and Worf joined him in a howl that was part frustration and anger, and part death howl. The sound echoed through the mine. Still stunned, they could do nothing but leave, and Aragorn led them out of the Mine, and then on toward Lothlórien. They paused just outside the mine, stunned. Merry and Pippin had collapsed together, and Sam dropped to the groud, tears streaming from his face. Frodo walked slowly away. Boromir had to hold Gimli back from re-entering the mine, and Legolas' expression was one of stunned disbelief. Worf looked around for something to hit; failing this, he pushed the grief down as fully as he could. Aragorn insisted they continue, and Worf pulled Sam to his feet, as Aragorn went after Frodo. Not even Aragorn was exempt from the grief. He showed none of it to the others, but when they continued he ran ahead, as if needing space.   
After a while, both Frodo and Sam fell behind, and Boromir and Aragorn ended up carrying them. When they reached a place of rest, Aragorn saw to Frodo and Sam's wounds, then insisted he see to Worf's as well, despite Worf's protestations. Worf removed his shirt, and Aragorn had to cover his surprise at the pink blood. Aragorn washed the wound with water infused with the _athelas_ herb, which was surprisingly effective for the primitive nature of the treatment; the wound remained, but healing had already begun.   
As Aragorn worked, Worf reflected on the last few hours, and the past several months. His life had been turned upside down. He had left an empty life on DS9, presumably to go back to the Klingon Empire. The Empire had fallen so far into dishonor, he didn't think there was any hope for it, but he had intended to try, anyway. It had been his duty, and the only thing he'd had left. Suddenly he had found himself in a strange world where nothing worked as it was supposed to: magic was real, there were immortal beings and races with histories deeper than any species he had studied. Good and evil were very real, and distinct. There was no grey area or blurring of the distinctions.   
Worf's connection to the world he left was growing ever weaker, and to his surprise, he felt little regret. He was coming to accept this world, and his link to the one he had left grew ever weaker. Surprisingly, he felt little regret. Even as he had begun to grow comfortable with this strange world, though, it seemed to fall apart. Gandalf's fall was more than the loss of the leader of the Fellowship; it was also the loss of a friend and guide. Gandalf was the only one of the Fellowship who had really understood Worf and his story, and moreover, accepted it. The old wizard had a wisdom passing even that of the Elves, and Worf knew the others wouldn't begin to comprehend the world of technology he had known. He wouldn't even try to explain it to them; they wouldn't understand; they didn't need to know, either. Now he felt more isolated than ever—an alien among primitives. He had friends, but no one who could really understand.   
Worf's dark musings were interrupted by a welcome diversion. Merry asked him about the ridges down his back, and Worf had to laugh at the young Hobbit's wonder, and outspokenness. "Because that's how Klingons look, little Hobbit."  
Pippin was quiet and withdrawn, and took no part in the joking. Guilt over the incident in Moria threatened to overwhelm him. Worf tried to explain to him the idea of an honorable death. "Pippin, do your people have the idea of an honorable death?" When the Hobbit shook his head no, Worf continued, "Gandalf died honorably. Where he is now, I do not know, but I am certain that he will be greeted with honor, wherever he is."  
The hobbit was skeptical, but the words seemed to comfort him a bit. Worf found that he was beginning to share the hobbit's skepticism. Everything else he had known had disappeared like dust in the wind, and Worf questioned the beliefs he had held all his life. In this world, magic was real, and evil assailed them from every side. This was not the same universe he had left. If he died here, would he really pass into Sto-vo-kor, or would he pass into oblivion, or something even worse? With nothing else to cling to, Worf pushed the dark thoughts away and salvaged what faith he had left in Sto-vo-kor and the Klingon concepts of life and death. Whatever would happen to him when he died, right now he had to live and fight. 

¹ p. 393, Fellowship of the Ring  



	8. Lothlórien

A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews. Please continue to review!! Aryne, I think this story will end up better than the one I first wrote if only for your ideas and input. I have updated chapter 7 in light of your suggestions. Hopefully I haven't made it too sappy. 

Ch. 8: Lothlórien 

The weary travelers reached Lothlórien. They had only reached the borders by nightfall, but were too weary to go further. The Company was divided in their opinion of this place. Aragorn and Legolas were eager to enter the place, but Boromir and Gimli were set against it. Boromir believed some danger lurked there, but Aragorn convinced him to enter; there was no other option. Gimli thought an Elven sorceress waited to ensnare them. Worf was again thoroughly confused, but knew better than to ask anyone's opinion in this divided group.   
They came to the Nimrodel stream and rested there; the stream had a strange power to refresh. Legolas made to climb a tree for shelter, and was surprised by Elves there. They had been watching the party for some time, and gave aid and shelter to the party, though very reluctantly to Gimli. They demanded he be guarded by Legolas and Aragorn They were also unsure of Worf, but they treated him with respect. Worf wondered again at the distrust between Elves and Dwarves; they would treat an alien with greater respect than a native of their planet on a noble quest, who was well spoken of by Legolas and Aragorn, who was himself an Elf-friend. They rested in the trees that night, and there was a scare when a large party of Orcs tramped by below them, but the Elves drew them off. It was then that Worf became certain they were being followed; he could not see the creature, but it tried to climb the tree. The returning Elves scared it off.   
When they set off after resting the night, they crossed the river Celebrant, and the Lothlórien Elves insisted Gimli be blindfolded. In the end, the entire fellowship had to be blindfolded to satisfy tempers. Legolas was offended by the condition, but in the end yielded. Worf was ready to yell at him to submit before he did, but held his tongue. As they walked and talked, Worf learned a little more of the Elves. They were sad, and though their land was still safe, it required constant defense. If they would pass to the Havens beyond the sea, it was a perilous journey. Even if the war ended, their kind would pass out of Middle Earth. After a while, word came from the Lady that all could walk without blindfold, and their eyes were unbound to the sight of a wonderful forest, golden and in bloom with flowers, even in the midst of winter.   
Coming to the city, Caras Galadon, they were brought before Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Worf was struck again by their ageless wisdom. Celeborn greeted each of them by name as they entered the room. When Worf entered, he said, "Welcome, Worf, son of Mogh, warrior from another time and place. You are welcome in this land, though it must seem strange to you. Yet, we are grateful for your presence, for we need strong arms to give what aid they may." To Aragorn fell the task of telling them of Gandalf's loss. Galadriel reached out to Gimli, and with kind words gained his respect, and Worf's.   
After holding each in her gaze for a very long moment, Galadriel sent them to their rest. They spoke later about the encounter. It seemed that she had offered each of them a choice between the evil times ahead, and something he desired greatly. For the two young Hobbits, it was returning home to a quiet life. Gimli, Boromir, and Frodo were close-lipped about their choice. Worf didn't speak aloud about it, either, but for him the choice had been very different. He had been given the choice not to return to the world of technology he had left, but a fast, honorable death in battle, and a quick journey to Sto-Vo-Kor.   
The Fellowship rested in this peaceful land, and to Worf's surprise, Legolas and Gimli soon became friends. Time seemed meaningless in this place. For his part, Worf came to know Boromir better. The Man was the son of the Steward of Gondor, Denethor II. The Stewards had ruled Gondor for many years, since the last of its kings was killed and no heir stepped forward to claim the throne. Boromir was his father's favorite, and was in an awkward position balancing between his father and his younger brother. He was a proud warrior and a man of great courage, but also great pride and a fair dose of superstition. They practiced together with their respective weapons, and Worf quickly came to admire his skill with a sword. Misguided as it was, his desire to use the ring stemmed from a desire to protect his people. The strength of Gondor was failing, and he was frustrated and losing hope. Worf came to respect him, despite the nagging suspicion that the temptation of the ring might overcome him.   
Galadriel came to them after a time, and brought Sam and Frodo before her mirror. She noticed Worf watching, and beckoned him, as well. Sam saw the destruction of the Shire, and Frodo images of the journey ahead, and the evil Eye. Worf saw images of his life—his father, his son, Jadzia. He saw himself surrounded by Orcs, fighting alone, and then fall—an honorable death, but an empty one. After that, a great battle, and a city of seven walls overrun by Orcs and other evil things, a great Black Rider ruling over the city. Then he saw himself standing in a celebrating crowd as Aragorn was crowned King of Gondor. Frodo offered the Ring to Galadriel, and Worf watched her struggle with the temptation. In the end, she chose to fade into the shadows of history. Worf knew now that her honor was greater than any he had met in all his life before the transporter accident that brought him to this place. For that is what it had become—a past life, now gone. Any desire he'd had to return was gone. The revelation startled him. This world would become his home. Even though the cause looked hopeless, he would not choose an easy death, even though it be honorable. He would spend every last drop of strength defend it, and to fight the forces of Mordor. 


	9. Interlude: Lórien

A/N: This chapter is outside the general flow of the story. Thanks to shirebound for the idea for this!   
As always, thanks for the reviews. I would love to know what everyone thinks about this story, so please review! Even just a couple words are an encouragement. 

Ch. 9: Interlude in Lórien 

As the fellowship rested in Lórien, they had their first opportunity in a long time to slow down, to rest, and to grieve. Each went about this in his own way. The Hobbits talked among themselves, but the others kept to themselves. Along with talk of Gandalf, the Hobbits also discussed their strange Klingon ally.   
"What do you think of Worf, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked.   
"I'm not sure I know what to think, Sam..."   
"Well, I, for one, am glad to have him along." Merry said. "He's a great fighter, and we'd have been in even more trouble than we have been without him. He saved me from that Black Rider."   
"He just seems so...I don't know, strange. He's sad, like the Elves, but I don't really know why. And I've never seen nor heard of the likes of him before. Even Strider doesn't seem to know what to think." Sam said.   
"Pippin, what do you think about him?" Merry asked. Pippin had remained quiet and withdrawn since Gandalf's fall, and everyone was trying to draw him out of his melancholy.   
"He's nice. He's been really good about trying to make me feel better. He's even tried to help me with my sword, but he doesn't know how to use a sword much better than me. He's really good with that big, um, thing he carries, though. What is it he calls it, a bat lit? It sounds like you're letting bats into the pantry to me."   
After a moment of silence, Merry spoke up again. "You haven't said much, Frodo. What do you think?"   
"I'm trying to figure that out, Merry. I'm glad to have him along, but I guess I think he's here more for his sake than ours. I think there's a reason he's here, but I can't really sort out any more than that. I don't even know if it makes sense to me."   


Aragorn sat with Boromir and Gimli on the ground where the fellowship rested. Gimli broke the silence. "Where is Worf? He has been keeping to himself much of late."   
"That should surprise no one, Gimli." Aragorn replied. "He needs solitude, as do we all at times."   
"Yes, but he is strange. He has the heart of a Dwarf warrior and the strength of an Elf, but he most reminds me of Men."   
"Do any of you know how old he is?" Boromir asked.   
"I do not." Aragorn replied. "He seems like in age to me. He seems to have worn many heavy years, but as one of us would count it. He is young yet, compared to the Elves."   
"What do you know of him?" Boromir asked.   
"Little more than you. I know that he is from a far-off land, and that he was brought to us by some sort of magic. I cannot think it an accident. He came on us just as the Nazgûl attacked, and he saved Merry's life. At first, I thought he was some new breed of Orc, but he has proven himself a valiant ally. He has not spoken to me about his home. He is reluctant to speak of it. I think he discussed it a little with Lord Elrond and Gandalf, and maybe the Lady knows a little more. In these days, I am willing to accept whatever help comes my way. The days are coming when we will need all the strong arms possible."   


Legolas was standing in a high flet looking up at the stars. The Lady Galadriel came up quietly to stand beside him.   
"Your thoughts dwell on the visitor from another world."   
"Yes, Lady. I do not know very much about Men or Hobbits, or even Dwarves, but they are at least understandable to me. Worf is something altogether different."   
"He does not belong to this world. He has come from a realm as far removed from this one as lost Númenor."   
"Is it in your power to send him back to his home?"   
"Even if it were, I do not think he would choose it. There is a great sadness to him. I, perhaps, have yet the greater claim to grief, but his short years have been difficult. The world that was his home holds nothing more for him. His wife was murdered and his homeland is in ruins. He will not return to it. The task that remains for him is to make a new home here in Middle Earth. For the moment, that is with the Fellowship, but that will not last forever, nor even long. Worf will not be the only one who must decide his fate in the days ahead." With that, Galadriel turned and left Legolas to his thoughts. 


	10. Choices

Ch. 10: Choices 

Soon the Fellowship left Lothlórien. Celeborn gave them boats to aid their travel, and they received other gifts, as well. First, warm cloaks, each perfectly fit to the wearer, grey yet seeming to change their hue to best blend in to their surroundings. After that, rope. It was a simple thing, but it put Sam at ease. Finally, Galadriel gave gifts to each one. For Aragorn, a sheath for Andúril and a brooch of green stone, seemingly with much history untold to the watchers; for Boromir, a golden belt; and silver belts to Merry and Pippin. Legolas received a new bow and quiver; Sam, a box of soil from the Lady's orchard; Gimli, who asked the audacious, was given a strand of the Lady's hair; for Frodo, a phial of the light of Eärandil's star. To Worf, she gave two sheathed Elven daggers, made of precious mithril. Worf put the longer of the two in his belt, and the shorter in his boot.   
As they set off down the Great River, the Anduin. Worf shared a boat with Legolas and Gimli, and was again amazed at the change in them—they had become fast friends. The Hobbits soon became aware of Gollum following them—pretending to be a log floating in the river. Aragorn had been aware of it since Moria, when the creature first started tailing them. It was clear the Man was a master hunter. Worf had gathered a little information about Gollum, but still did not know exactly what the creature might do, and of what he was capable.   
After that incident, the company hurried along faster; the river banks sped by. The rapids of Sarn Gebir came on them suddenly, and it took all their strength to paddle the boats back and to shore, lest they be crushed in the rapids. They had traveled further than any had reckoned. As they slowly fought their way back up the river, they were carried toward the eastern shore. When they approached it, they were attacked by Orcs armed with arrows; the Orcs seemed to see better at night than any of them. They worked their way to the western shore without injury, and a dark, winged creature flew over. Legolas shot a single arrow, and the thing fell out of the air with an evil scream. Frodo clutched the shoulder where he was wounded so long ago at Weathertop.   
After resting the night, they rose to fog. Boromir was ready to turn aside and head to Minas Tirith, but Aragorn would have none of it. Once Boromir saw that Frodo would follow Aragorn, he relented. He would not be parted with the Ringbearer. Aragorn and Legolas scouted for the portage-way around the rapids. Worf tried to talk to Boromir as they waited, but the man was sullen and withdrawn. The man's pride was great, and he was convinced this was the wrong course of action, and would only take them into greater danger. Worf had to wonder how he thought going to Minas Tirith would accomplish the destruction of the ring, but he knew enough about the man to know that he did not believe in that task, either. The scouts returned, and reported that they had found the portage-way, but they way was difficult. They had been unable to find the northern landing that would have allowed them easier access.   
The Elven boats were light, and when the ground was level, even two of the Hobbits could carry one of them. Unfortunately, the ground was nothing resembling level, and Aragorn, Boromir, and Worf lugged them across the rough land, while the others brought baggage. After the task was finished and everything brought to the southern landing of the portage, they rested, then continued. They reached the Argonath, giant statues of ancient kings, guarding the river. Worf stared up at them, as did Aragorn, but the others were intimidated by them. As they approached the statues, Aragorn seemed transformed—he was not the Strider they knew, but the descendent of the very kings the statues were patterned after, having returned finally to the land that was his right.   
Coming through the chasm, they were greeted by an island in the middle of the river. Taking the right branch, they landed and rested below Amon Hen. During the night, Aragorn grew uneasy, and when Frodo drew Sting, it glowed dully; Worf drew the Elven dagger at his waist, and it, too, gleamed faintly. The Orcs were far off, but they were cause for concern. The next morning, the time finally came to decide what to do and where to go finally came. Frodo begged an hour to be alone. He wandered off, and Boromir followed. Worf slipped off in another direction, but came around to tail the Man silently. It bothered him to sneak around like a thief, but he was worried about what might happen. As he listened to them speak, Worf saw surely Boromir's ambition—to take the ring for himself; in his own mind, he thought he would use it to defend his people. The ring had taken command of his mind and convinced him of this. Boromir's ranting finally crystallized Frodo's resolve to go on to Mordor. It was probably the only thing that could have accomplished it. Worf watched mutely as his friend, possessed by desire for the ring, grabbed at the Hobbit, who put on the ring and escaped. Coming back to himself, Boromir realized what he had done and began to weep. Giving him his space, Worf, too, slipped quietly off, unseen.   
As Worf returned, the others were debating their course, then realized that Boromir was gone. Worf said nothing of what he had seen, but it didn't take much for Aragorn and the others to put two and two together. After a while, Boromir returned, and told some of his story, leaving out the part about grabbing for the Ring. Aragorn was suspicious, but a more immediate problem presented itself when most of the company ran off in separate directions. Aragorn sent Boromir after Merry and Pippin, then took Sam with him to search for Frodo. Worf went off alone, also searching for the Hobbit. None of them realized when Frodo and Sam slipped off alone. Sam, who knew his master best, had guessed his plans and followed him to the boats, and refused to be left behind. 


	11. The Four Hunters

A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews and please continue to review. Like yesterday, I am posting two chapters so the total length will not be very short.   
GreyLadyBlast, you're absolutely right. I didn't look back carefully enough at what I put in chapter 10 when I re-edited chapter 8, and I repeated myself. Sorry about that. 

Ch. 11: The Four Hunters 

As the Company was searching for Frodo, they heard a blast from the great horn Boromir carried. Worf, Legolas, and Gimli arrived just after Aragorn, to see Boromir pierced with arrows, and hear his dying words. Worf dropped to his knees by his friend, opposite Aragorn. Aragorn spoke quietly to him, words of encouragement and victory, and Boromir finally acknowledged his king. When Aragorn paused, Boromir spoke weakly to Worf. "I am sorry, my friend. My cowardice has caused us all great grief. Merry and Pippin are captive, and I do not know what has happened to Frodo."   
"No, friend. You have fought with honor. You will have a place among the honored dead. I will do all I can to help the Hobbits. You have my word of honor" With that, Worf gave a howl that startled the others, but he explained that all races face death differently. He said simply, "It is a way to honor the dead." Having no time to bury Boromir's body, they put it in a boat and sent it down the falls. Seeing one of the other boats missing, they were able to figure out what had happened with Frodo and Sam.   
After a few minutes' debate, the foursome decided to follow the Orcs to retrieve Merry and Pippin. Leaving all that could be spared, the four Hunters set off, walking through the night and taking only brief rest. Without Aragorn's hunting skill, they would have been lost. Just before dawn, they found the bodies of five Orcs, presumably killed in a quarrel amongst themselves. Aragorn was lost in a moment of reverie when they came in view of Gondor to the south, but they went on following the Orcs, north and west. Though he had never attempted to claim his throne, Aragorn's feelings for his land ran deep.   
The next day, Legolas spotted a great company on foot, but far away, about twelve leagues, he guessed. Worf wondered what distance a league measured, but it didn't matter; it was obvious the Elf's eyes were much better than his, anyway. They continued, now running and not stopping for rest. In the cold on Caradhas, Worf's Klingon heritage had been no aid, but now it was to his advantage. His body had been toned for walking these last few months on this journey, and his stamina was good. The running was no difficulty.   
Suddenly, Aragorn paused, and they all saw the small hobbit footprints, and an Elven brooch, just beside the main trail of trampled grass left by the Orcs. Encouraged, they continued on, with little rest, for the remainder of the day. Darkness came, and after much debate, Aragorn decided to stop. They could not risk missing signs or wandering off the trail in the dead of night. With no light, they could not continue, so they rested for the night. Even Worf was glad of the rest, though he would never admit it.   
Waking before the sun, the hunters realized how far behind they had fallen during the night. Aragorn laid on the ground for a long time, listening to the very earth. His report was that the Orcs were indeed far away, but also that horses were passing in the West. Not sure what to make of this, the four set off again, alternately running and walking, eating _lembas_ from Lothlórien without even stopping. It was a marvelous food, and better than any other trail ration Worf had encountered. It did not fill the stomach, but it provided the strength to continue.   
They stopped again that night; even Worf was weary. They all begrudged the stop, but they were tired, unnaturally so. It took little effort, even to brains fuzzy with exhaustion, to realize Saruman was its source, but they refused to let it stop them. The darkness forced them to halt and rest, but started again with a red dawn. Finding a hill where the orcs had rested, Aragorn estimated that they were now 36 hours behind the orcs. After taking a moment to clarify the length of time measured by an hour, they continued. There was nothing else to do. 


	12. The White Rider

Ch. 12: The White Rider 

Now mounted, the four moved quickly. In late afternoon, they came to the place where the Rohirrim had fought the Orcs, but there was no sign of Merry or Pippin. They waited for morning before continuing. At Gimli's urging, they made a fire, but Aragorn warned them to harm no living wood, for he feared the wrath of the forest. Celeborn had warned them of the Fangorn forest. Legolas thought even the trees were glad of the fire. Worf had to wonder what danger simple trees could pose, but if even Celeborn feared them, he too would leave them be.   
The four were woken by Gimli's shout and an old man standing at the edge of the forest. Aragorn invited him to join them, but he slipped off before they could reach him. The horses were gone. The others suspected Saruman, and Worf had no other theory; he didn't know enough about the situation to know what to think. When morning eventually came, they discussed the night before, and Legolas mentioned that the horses had sounded as if they had met an old friend, rather than frightened. Worf was amazed that he could make such a distinction, but he had worked with the animals all his long life. However they had left, they were gone, and the four set to searching the battle site for signs of the hobbits.   
Signs they found, in the form of lembas crumbs, and the leaf wrapping from the Elven waybread. There was also a broken Orc blade nearby. They were able to surmise that at least one of the hobbits had escaped into the forest, and that the Orcs had been ordered to capture hobbits and bring them back alive. Saruman would not have trusted such stupid mercenaries with enough information to know which hobbit they were seeking or what he carried. That was the reason the Orcs had neither killed their captives nor attacked the rest of the party.   
The four of them entered the forest with trepidation. Legolas seemed to listen to the trees, and seemed reassured. Both Gimli and Worf were amazed by this, but it made them feel a little better, nonetheless. Climbing a hill as they searched, they saw an old man below them. Gimli called for them to ready their weapons, but none were willing to attack without provocation.   
The old man greeted them, "Well met indeed, my friends. I wish to speak to you." At that, he climbed up onto a rock wall below them. Gimli cried for Legolas to shoot him, but the old man spoke again. "I said I wished to speak to you. Put away that bow, Master Elf. And you, Master Dwarf, remove your hand from your axe-haft. Master Klingon, you won't need your weapon, either." As he climbed up, there was a flash of white beneath the grey rags he wore. Worf knew that Saruman was called Saruman the White, but he could not move. Aragorn asked the man his name, but the old man said, "My name? Have you not guessed it already. You have heard it before. What of your tale?" When the four would not reply, the old man told them that two young hobbits had been in that same place two days ago, and met someone unexpected. ¹   
Frustrated, but not willing to attack, Worf watched in silence. The old man seemed ready to speak more, but he went to sit down before continuing. As he turned away, the four hunters were suddenly able to move again, and all readied their weapons, even Aragorn. As he sat down, they saw that he was wearing all white. Gimli rushed at him, but Worf held back, restrained by something he didn't quite understand. This battle would belong to the dwarf. The old man jumped up onto a rock, throwing off his rags. As the man lifted his staff, all were stopped in their tracks. Gimli's axe fell to the ground and Aragorn's sword blazed, joined by Worf's bat'leth. Realizing who stood there, Legolas shot an arrow into the air for joy; it burned to nothing in midair.   
"Mithrandir!" The Elf cried, and then Aragorn cried his other name, "Gandalf!" Gimli sank to his knees in shame. Gandalf pulled him to his feet, saying, "No blame to you, and no harm done to me. None of you has any weapon that could hurt me."   
Worf spoke up, "Gandalf! Why do you wear white? You were known as Gandalf the Grey, and Saruman was the White."   
Gandalf laughted, then explained. He was now what Saruman should have been. The power emanating from him kept them in awe. The companions sat and caught up on news. Aragorn told of Boromir's death, and Gandalf told them about Saruman. Saruman's treachery had done more harm than good for the Enemy. He had betrayed the free peoples to the Enemy, but also sought the ring for himself. In his attempt to gain the ring, he brought the young hobbits to Fangorn. Thanks to the Rohirrim, no news of them would go back to Mordor, but the Enemy knew already that the Orcs had seized the hobbits, but against his wishes they were to be taken to Isengard, Saruman's stronghold, rather than Mordor. Gandalf also told that the Nazgûl had winged steeds. The flying creature Legolas had shot at the riverside had been one of those steeds, but the Ringwraith could not be slain so easily. The hobbits were with the Ents, treelike creatures that seemed to be more legend than reality to the people of Middle Earth. Even Legolas knew them only in legend. The hobbits had roused the Ents' anger against Isengard, though not even Gandalf knew quite what the ancient creatures would do about it.   
Gandalf was reluctant to talk about what had happened in Moria, but he told them a little. He had passed through fire and abyss and now returned to them. He told a little about the battle with the Balrog, falling into the abyss in the thing's fire, then water below, then after following it through Moria, defeated the thing in the mountains above ground. He was rescued by Gwahir, the Windlord, ruler of the Eagles. Gandalf was now the one White Rider to stand against the Nine Black Riders. He arrived at Lothlórien only shortly after the company left it. He brought messages from the Lady for each. For Aragorn, words of kinsmen and the Dead watching the road leading to the Sea. For Legolas, a warning about the Sea and gulls. For Worf, her words were to persevere, and rest would come in the end. For Gimli, a remembrance, and a caution to lay his axe to the right tree. That made all of them chuckle, and Gimli danced around, singing loudly in his own tongue. The others watched in amusement, but Gandalf they soon had to leave. 

¹ pp. 114-115, The Two Towers 


	13. Schemes Revealed

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. I have fixed the footnote. 

Ch. 13: Schemes Revealed 

Gandalf whistled, and their three horses came following another one, one of the most beautiful creatures any of them had ever seen. Gandalf told them this was Shadowfax, the lord of horses. It was he who had called the other horses away the night before. Because time was pressing, Gandalf took Gimli with him on Shadowfax. The horse was like none other; his ability surpassed the other horses like a grown man surpasses a small child at swordplay.   
They rode all day and stopped for only a few hours rest. All were weary, but the next day they came to Edoras, home of Théoden, King of the Mark of Rohan. They hoped for a warm place to rest, but the reception they received was anything but warm. They were challenged in the rolling tongue of Rohan. Gandalf replied in their own language; what he said the others could not understand. Using the common tongue, the guards challenged the party about their horses. Aragorn bristled at the implication that they were thieves, and said, "Seldom does the thief ride home to the stable. Here are the horses that Éomer lent to us, only two days ago. We bring them back, as promised."   
The guard was still skeptical, and Worf spoke up, "We are not honorless thieves, man! No thief would return to the scene of his crime. We return the horses we were lent!"   
The guard replied, "It is but two nights ago that Wormtongue told us that by the will of Théoden no stranger should pass these gates."   
It was obvious from Gandalf's reaction that he held no love for the one called Wormtongue. Gandalf demanded to speak to the Lord of the Mark, and the guard asked for names. Gandalf would have spoken, but Worf jumped in, taking the place of a herald. "The one to whom you speak is Gandalf, who has returned, and brings Shadowfax the great. At his side is Aragorn son of Arathorn, the heir of Kings. Their companions are Legolas the Elf and Gimli the Dwarf. I am Worf, son of Mogh." The guard seemed a little dazed at this, but he went inside and reported to his lord.   
Eventually they were allowed through the gates and brought to the King's hall, where they were asked to lay aside their weapons. Legolas did so readily, but Aragorn took offense. He said, "I would do as the master of the house bade me, were this only a woodman's cot, if I bore now any sword but Andúril." ¹ It occurred to Worf that this sword had no less value than the sword of Kah'less. It was only when Gandalf stepped in and left his sword, Glamdring, that Aragorn relented. Aragorn reluctantly laid down the sword, with a very stern warning to the guard, and Gimli and Worf, too, laid down their weapons. The matter then came to Gandalf's staff, which he flatly refused to leave, calling it discourtesy to take from an old man his means of support. The guard eventually let it drop and allowed them to pass.   
After walking the length of the hall, the five approached a withered old man on a dais. A slender woman stood behind him, and another old man sat on the steps below him. Gandalf greeted Théoden respectfully, but the king's response was cold. "I greet you, but your welcome is doubtful here. You have ever been a herald of woe. I do not miss your presence. Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?"²   
The man sitting on the steps encouraged the old king's tirade. Worf was not the only one to take an instant dislike to the man. Gandalf spoke to him. "You are held wise, my friend Wormtongue, but a bringer of evil tidings may be the cause of it, or he may come to bring aid because of the need. They parried words a few minutes more. The last straw came when Wormtongue asked if they were in league with "the Sorceress of the Golden Wood."³   
Gandalf threw off his cloak and drew himself up to his full height. He raised his staff and the hall suddenly darkened. Gandalf, clothed in white, was the only thing visible. "The wise speak only of what they know, Gríma son of Gálmód. A witless worm you have become. Be silent; I have not passed through fire and death to waste words on you. Wormtongue cried foul at the guard for allowing the wizard to keep his staff, then fell flat on his face.4   
After a moment, the unnatural darkness cleared, and with encouragement from Gandalf, Théoden stood and slowly made his way out of the dim hall. Looking out on his kingdom, the king stood straight for the first time in years. He called for Éomer, who had been imprisoned at Wormtongue's prompting, for giving horses to the hunters. Gandalf spoke quietly to him, and years seemed to have fallen off the man in the span of the few minutes since they had first seen him. Éomer was restored, and the King took up his sword again, found hidden in Wormtongue's chest, along with quite a few other possessions not rightly his.   
Wormtongue was, unfortunately, still breathing, and was brought before the king. When he saw the sword, he begged, "Do not weary yourself or overtax your strength, lord. Would you leave your hall unguarded? The wizard has bewitched you!"   
He did everything he could to convince the king he was incapable of fighting, but the king replied, "All shall ride with me, even you, Gríma."   
"Appoint me as your steward. Let your counselor Gríma keep all things until you return." Womtongue looked desperate.   
Gandalf spoke up at this. "Down snake! How long have you spied for Saruman? What did he promise you? Your pick of the treasure? The woman you desire?" 5   
Apparently, this was no revelation to any of the Rohirrim, save Théoden. Wormtongue had long watched Éowyn, niece of the king, and lusted after her. They sent him away to go to Saruman, then ate quickly while Théoden's forces were readied. Théoden gave them their run of his armory. Worf abandoned his Klingon clothing in favor of the chain mail and helms these people wore. He took a strong bow and a quiver of arrows, but no shield, only hard leather arm guards, keeping both hands free for his bat'leth. The weight of the chain mail was not enough to slow him, and it was better protection; it was also a severing of another link to his past.   
Éowyn offered a cup of wine, first to Théoden, then to the guests. She seemed unduly affected by Aragorn, but the moment passed. Éowyn was left to protect Éorlingas, herself no less a warrior than any of the men, and the rest of Théoden's warriors prepared to depart. Éomer, who now reserved judgement on the Lady of the Wood, made peace with Gimli, and took the dwarf with him on his horse. Behind the King of the Mark and the White Rider, a battle host rode off.   
After riding late into the night, the host stopped for a short rest, then rode the all the next day; a messenger brought news of battle in Isengard and a stand by Erkenbrand, master of Helm's Deep. Gandalf left them on an errand of his own, Shadowfax bearing him off at incredible speed. Riding late into the night, the host came to Helm's Deep, also called Westfold Vale. There was a gate before the valley, an extension of the cliffs that bounded a narrow, deep valley. A tower, called Hornburg, supported the gates. The wall was well tended and strong, but its defenders were few.   
Scouts reported that a large force from Isengard was even then advancing on Helm's Deep. The host passed through Helm's Dike, a strong wall, but too long to be defended by so few; the enemy followed close behind. They were greeted by an old man named Gamling. There were there perhaps a thousand footmen, but like Gamling, many were old, or very young. The host established itself on the Deeping Wall. Gimli and Legolas spent the time waiting talking to each other and resting. Worf rested a little, but he was restless. He spent some time with Éomer. The man was a warrior and told him much of battle in this world; as he had with Gimli, he had overcome his skepticism about the alien warrior. Worf admired his courage; he had faced his king's anger for helping them, and now restored, he was ready to lead his men into battle. Worf looked forward to fighting at his side. He would have opportunity aplenty. 

¹ p. 136, The Two Towers   
² p. 138, The Two Towers   
³ p. 139, The Two Towers   
4 p. 140, The Two Towers   
5 pp. 146-147, The Two Towers


	14. Helm's Deep

A/N: Hi! As always, thanks for the reviews. I have written an ending for this, and I like it myself, but I'd like to know how all of you think I should end this story (i.e. what should happen to Worf after the war is over). Please let me know!  
This chapter is rather short (sorry about that; the next one will be longer).  
I'm also looking for a beta-reader for a short Gimli/OC romance. Please email me if you're interested.  


  
Ch. 14: Helm's Deep   
  
While it was still dark, the rearguard of Westfold retreated into the Hornburg, followed closely by the enemy, an army of orcs and wild men. The army attacked, to be met by silence. The silence made them hesitate, but they soon overcame their confusion and attacked. When they approached the gates, the orc army was met by arrows thick as rain, and stones like hail. Worf stood with Éomer and Aragorn, and shot his share of arrows, wishing once again for a phaser. Lightning revealed the enormous host attacking the gates, readying a battering ram made from the trunks of giant trees. Gathering men as they went, the three ran for a small door in the site of the wall. Aragorn swung Andúril, and the forces above shouted their support; the Blade that was Broken fought once again. Éomer's sword sang, and Worf's bat'leth tasted blood. As they turned to return to the gates, Éomer was swept off his feet by a group of Orcs that had hidden near them. They were not the only creatures hidden in the dark; with a battle cry, a small figure swung an axe that beheaded two of the orcs in a single stroke. Worf caught another with his bat'leth, and the rest fled. They returned inside, Éomer thanking Gimli for his life.   
Gimli and Legolas fell into counting their harvest of orcs; Legolas claimed twenty, and Gimli two. Worf jumped in with his count of eighteen. After only a brief rest, the attack on the walls was renewed. The enemy threw grappling hooks and ladders against the wall. They simply kept coming. Aragorn rallied the troops three times, Worf and Éomer close at his side. Some of the orcs managed to get past the defenders to where the horses were guarded, and others rushed in through a culvert made for the Deeping stream. Gimli and Legolas went after them as Gamling brought out reinforcements from the caves; the orcs were quickly dispatched. With Gimli's help, they dammed up the culvert in the Deeping stream, flooding the culvert.   
The latest assault halted, there was a lull in the battle, but just enough for the weary warriors to catch their breath. All were weary, but dawn was soon approaching, and with it, a glimmer of hope. Suddenly a great hole blasted through the rock dam holding back the stream. Not only was the dam gone, but there was a gaping, ragged hole in the wall. Aragorn called it the devilry of Saruman, and Worf wondered what explosive might be known to these primitive people, as they both rushed to defend the wall against the latest onslaught. The defenders retreated back into the citadel. Aragorn alone held their retreat, the terror of Andúril holding the enemy at bay just long enough for the retreat. Legolas had a single arrow ready to back him up. When Aragorn too, turned to retreat, he stumbled, and Legolas shot his one arrow. Legolas now claimed 39 orcs, but Worf had more than caught up, taking down 47 orcs. From above, the defenders threw down a boulder, which allowed them a moment to finish their retreat.   
Inside the citadel, Aragorn and Worf learned that Éomer was not there. Most likely, he was in hiding in the caves; they were well provisioned and defensible. Those in the caves were probably better off than the ones in the citadel. Aragorn, Legolas, and Worf went aid the defenders on the wall, throwing rocks and hacking at anything that tried to get over the gates.   
Just before dawn, Aragorn stood above the gates, in full view of the enemy; they called for him to come down and bring out the king, but Aragorn replied, "I looked out to see the dawn." The enemy did not care; these Uruk-hai did not fear the sun like other Orcs. Aragorn told them "None know what the new day shall bring him. Get you gone, ere it turn to your evil. No enemy has yet taken the Hornburg. If you do not leave, not one will be left alive to take back tidings to the North. You do not know your peril."¹ Standing there, Aragorn was revealed in all his power and royalty; the effect was so great it caused many of the attackers to falter, but soon arrows forced him off the wall.   
Moments later, another blast of the evil fire came, and the gate fell; the barricade behind it was scattered. The Orcs screamed in anticipation, but suddenly the great horn of Helm rang loud and clear. Blast upon blast came, echoing off the hills. With a shout, Théoden rode forth, Aragorn at his right, Worf on his left. The lords of the House of Eorl the Young rode behind him. From the caves men came streaming out. They mowed down the forces of Isengard as if they were straw. Those who could fled before the attack. The company halted at the Dike, where they looked in wonder at a forest sprung up overnight. The armies of Isengard feared the trees almost as much as their attackers; they tried to climb the walls of the valley. The east side was too steep and stony to climb, and those who tried the west found themselves met by a White Rider followed by a thousand footmen. Gandalf had brought Erkenbrand with reinforcements. With nowhere else to go, the Orcs fled into the wood, never to emerge. 

¹ pp. 170-171, The Two Towers  



	15. A Klingon Smoking?

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. GreyLadyBlast, check out chapter 4 (Elrond's council) for an explanation of the archery--the Elves taught him while he was in Rivendell. You have a good point about that title, and I've changed it. I'm still debating the ending, so if anyone else has opinions, please let me know! I have one written and a couple other ideas, but I'd like to know what you think. 

Ch. 15: A Klingon Smoking? 

After a short rest, Gandalf, along with Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Worf, Théoden and a small party of his men, set out for Isengard. Behind Gandalf, they passed through the wood, where an arched path took them through the wood. Coming to Isengard, they found it in shambles, water receding from a flood.   
At its gates, they saw a small figure stand and greet them. There were bottles and plates scattered around him, and another sat nearby, fast asleep. The hobbit spoke directly to Éomer and Théoden. "Welcome, my lords, to Isengard. We are the door-wardens. Meridoc, son of Saradoc is my name; and my companion, who, alas! is overcome with weariness, is Peregrin, son of Paladin, of the house of Took." As Merry spoke, he kicked Pippin several times to try to wake him. "The Lord Saruman is within, but unavailable. Our orders to guard the doors come from Treebeard, who commanded me to welcome the Lord of Rohan with fitting words. I have done my best." ¹   
Gimli burst out, "And what about us? Your rascals! We've followed you two hundred leagues, through battle and death, and we find you feasting and smoking! I am so torn between rage and joy, if I don't burst, it will be a marvel!"   
Legolas laughed, and said, "You speak for me, too, but I would sooner learn how they came by the wine!" ²   
While they bandied words, Worf snuck up quietly behind Pippin, who was not asleep, but still had his eyes closed. Seeing his plan, the others kept the conversation going until he suddenly laid his hands heavily on the hobbit's shoulders. Pippin gave a cry and would have jumped a foot if Worf hadn't held him down. The whole company burst into laughter, and Pippin aimed a mock punch at Worf's midsection before hugging him.   
"It's good to see you all, though after that start, I'm not so sure!" Pippin laughed, seeing Worf's discomfort at the hug.   
Théoden, who had never seen a hobbit, was amazed, smiling at the antics. He and Gandalf left to find Treebeard, while the others took their rest.   
Merry and Pippin took Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Worf into the guardhouse, where they ate better than they had in a very long time. The simple fare tasted better than many a feast. The hobbits were in excellent health, something Legolas attributed to the Ent's draughts they had received from Treebeard.   
Before swapping stories, the hobbits and Gimli took a moment to light pipes. Merry had several stored away, and the hobbits had found excellent pipe-weed there in Saruman's stronghold. Worf had never used tobacco, but when the hobbits egged him on, he tried a pull on Pippin's pipe. He coughed a bit, but managed to not embarrass himself completely. A couple more puffs, and he actually began to enjoy it, laughing to himself about what Dr. Bashir would have said about it.   
The small company walked back outside, sharing pipes and stories. The Ents had attacked and flooded Isengard, tearing the very rock and turning aside the River Isen to do their work. The forest that aided the battle at Helm's Deep was also their work. Wormtongue had arrived just that morning and was in the tower with Saruman.   
After a bit, they went into the courtyard, where they joined Gandalf and Théoden. Worf went with the rest of the party to Orthanc speak with Saruman. Wormtongue was the first to greet them, and he fetched Saruman. The moment Saruman began to speak, it was as if a powerful telepath was trying to control Worf's mind. A quick glance around showed that the others felt the same effect. It was with great effort that Théoden remembered Saruman's treachery, and would not be convinced that the wizard meant well. Saruman tried to convince Gandalf to come into the tower, but the other simply laughed. Saruman had imprisoned him to turn him over to Mordor; Gandalf would not be so easily deceived. Saruman even tried to offer Worf a way home, and the chance to change the past and save Jadzia and their child. Worf knew it was all a lie, but it was with great difficulty than he resisted. It was a far more difficult battle than any he had fought before, fought on the battlefield of his mind and emotions.   
Despite the treachery, Gandalf offered Saruman the opportunity to leave the place free, asking for the Key of Orthanc and his staff, but now Saruman laughed in his face and turned to leave. At that moment, Gandalf spoke, "Come back, Saruman!" with such authority the wizard was forced to turn back, as if against his will. "Behold, I am not Gandalf the Grey, whom you betrayed. I am Gandalf the White, who has returned from death. You have no color now, and I cast you from the order and from the Council. Saruman, your staff is broken."   
At Gandalf's word, Saruman's staff broke in two. At that moment, a dark sphere flew down from the tower, apparently a parting shot from Wormtongue. Pippin picked it up to keep it from rolling in a pool, but Gandalf quickly took it from him, saying "I'll take that, lad. I did not ask you to handle it." He snatched it from the hobbit and wrapped it in his cloak quickly.³   
Returning to the gates, all were introduced to the treelike Ents. They were some of the most incredible beings any of them, even Worf, had seen. The Ents remained to guard Orthanc, and the riders set off. After riding all day, the company stopped to rest. Worf chose a spot not far from the hobbits, close enough to hear Pippin's restless motion. Worf had learned to sleep almost anywhere and with whatever noise there might be, and he drifted off to Pippin's complaining. A little later, he woke quietly to see Pippin leaning over the sphere, then cry out.   
Worf and the guards woke the camp, and Gandalf rushed to the unconscious hobbit. Pippin abruptly sat up and spoke something about Saruman and sending for something at once, before Gandalf woke him. The little hobbit had seen some sort of vision in the ball, and Gandalf managed to get the story out of him. He had seen the Nazgûl and someone he referred to only as _him_, and was questioned by this being. It didn't taken much insight to realize the_ him_ was the Dark Lord himself.   
Gandalf comforted him, "You have taken no harm. Things have not turned out as evilly as they might." He left the two hobbits and returned to the others.4   
Gandalf gave the globe, a palantír of old, to Aragorn, with great ceremony. He cautioned Aragorn to not use it, nor be hasty. Aragorn's reply was "When have I been hasty or unwary, who have waited and prepared for so many long years?"5   
Worf began, for the first time, to see the reason the man had not yet attempted to lay claim to his ancestral throne. He was biding his time and waiting for the best moment to make his move, not procrastinating out of cowardice.   
The discussion turned to Pippin's use of the stone. It may have saved them from a great mistake, because, if not, Gandalf might have used it and revealed himself to the Enemy. Pippin had served to confuse the enemy without revealing any strength of the defenders.   
As they stood talking, a shadow suddenly fell over them; one of the Nazgûl on a great winged steed flew overhead. The Rider's passage set the company into motion. Gandalf took Pippin with him on Shadowfax and rode off as quickly as the great horse could take him. 

¹ pp. 190-191, The Two Towers   
² p. 191, The Two Towers   
³ pp. 222-223, The Two Towers   
4 p. 235, The Two Towers   
5 p. 236, The Two Towers


	16. Decisions

A/N: Hi! These chapters are short, so I've posted two. I've also corrected a problem with chapter 6 (noticed by a friend from school). Apparently, I replaced the text of chapter 6 with chapter 5. 

Ch. 16: Decisions 

Soon the remaining twenty five horses and twenty-seven riders departed. Merry rode with Aragorn, and Gimli with Legolas. Soon they became aware of riders behind them. They turned and all readied their weapons. The approaching party was at least as large as the king's party. Aragorn dismounted, Andúril ready, and Éomer challenged the riders.   
The leader dismounted and walked forward. "I am Halbarad Dúnadan, Ranger of the North. We are seeking one Aragorn son of Arathorn."   
"You have found him!" Aragorn cried, before embracing the man.¹ The ranger had brought thirty of the Rangers, Aragorn's kin from the North. With them, too, were Elrond's twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir.   
Having no time to waste, they set off at once. Aragorn rode with the Dúnedain and caught up on news as they rode. Elrohir spoke to him a message from Elrond: "The days are short. If thou are in haste, remember the Paths of the Dead." Halbarad brought not a message but a tall staff wrapped in black cloth, sent by Lady Arwen. Galadriel had sent word to Rivendell that Aragorn had need of his kin.¹   
The next day, they came to the Hornburg, where Aragorn disappeared, accompanied only by Halbarad. Legolas, Gimli, Merry, and Worf were left to wander on their own. When they returned for lunch, Merry surprised them all by offering his service to Théoden, becoming the king's squire. At that moment, Worf began to feel lonely. The last few months had been so busy he'd scarcely had time to think, much less feel anything of the sort. Now, though, even little Merry, far from home and scarcely capable of protecting himself, much less fighting a battle, was sworn to the service a great lord. All the others had homes or goals to return to, but Worf had none of that. He almost offered his service to Théoden then, but held back, not wanting to be disloyal to Aragorn and the remnants of the fellowship. Another memory rang in the back of his mind, a promise made to a dying man: _I will do all I can to help the Hobbits. You have my word of honor_.   
After lunch, five hundred of Théoden's men prepared to ride, following the thousand who had left in the night. The Rangers stood apart, wearing no adornment save a silver brooch in a rayed star design. Merry was given a pony. Éomer went after Aragorn, and soon they emerged, along with Elladan and Elrohir, dark haired Elf-lords. Legolas, Gimli, and Worf followed. Aragorn looked wearier than any had ever seen him.   
Aragorn spoke to Théoden. "How long will your muster require?" When Théoden told him three days before they could come to the Hold at Dunharrow to begin the muster, Aragorn seemed to make a decision. "By your leave, lord, I must take leave of you. The time for stealth has passed. I will ride east by the swiftest way, and take the Paths of the Dead."   
Théoden trembled at the very mention of this, and Éomer thought he would never see him again, but Aragorn replied, "In battle we may yet meet again, though all the hosts of Mordor should stand between."²   
When questioned, Aragorn told them that he had used the palantír from Orthanc, and held a battle of wills with the Dark Lord himself, barely able to wrench the stone to his own use. The knowledge that Isildur's heir walked the green earth, carrying the Sword that was Broken, that defeated him once before, was a heavy blow to the Enemy. It might cause him to act more hastily than he might have otherwise. In the stone, Aragorn had seen a grave danger to Minas Tirith—an army that would arrive within ten days and, without defense unlooked for, would take the city. It was the cause of the great haste.   
Merry was left to ride with Théoden, and Worf faced a decision: with whom would he ride? Aragorn, weary though he was, seemed to see Worf's debate with the same almost telepathic clarity he had shown in Rivendell. Walking over to Worf, he clasped the Klingon's wrist and said, "Worf, you are welcome to go with whomever you will. I would be honored to have you ride with me, but so would Théoden. Go where your heart leads you."   
Worf bowed his head in a sign of respect, then said, "Thank you, my lord. Know that I would gladly ride with you, but…"   
"Say no more. _Nai tiruvantel ar varyuvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya._³ May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky. I will look for you in Minas Tirith. Until then, farewell!"   
Worf turned to Théoden, who had watched the conversation with some interest, then knelt before the king, laying his bat'leth before the king. He spoke, "You have my service, lord, and my blade, if you will accept them."   
"Gladly will I have you ride at my side, warrior Worf. Join my troops with honor, knight of the Mark." Worf mounted his horse beside Éomer, who clasped his wrist for a moment before they rode out. 

¹ p. 51, Return of the King   
² p. 56, Return of the King   
³ p. 31, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring Visual Companion


	17. The Race to Minas Tirith

Ch. 17: The Race to Minas Tirith 

After three days of hard riding, Théoden's forces came to the Hold of Dunharrow. Gandalf had been there three days before, and the muster had begun at his urging. The assembled army was many thousands strong. To reach the Hold, the army had to climb a steep, looping mountain trail. No enemy would ever conquer that hold, save perhaps from the air.   
They were greeted by Éowyn, who put up a strong appearance, but she looked like she had been crying. Aragorn had passed through, arriving late at night two days ago and leaving the next morning, on his way to the Paths of the Dead, and the Rohirrim gave him up for dead.   
Merry and Worf were both left to their own amusement for a while, both wondering what these Paths of the Dead might be. They had given up the attempt at even guessing and Merry had launched into a long account of his genealogy, when a trumpet sounded, calling them to board. Merry waited on the king before the old man invited him to sit beside him. Worf sat beside Éomer and was treated like any of Théoden's captains; he had expected to be treated like a common soldier, not a captain. Merry asked the king about the Paths of the Dead, but even he was unable to answer much. This was no laughing matter, but Worf had to smile to himself at the hobbit's insatiable curiosity.   
As they ate, a messenger from Gondor arrived. Worf was shocked at his similarity to Boromir, but said nothing. The messenger told grave tidings from Minas Tirith, and begged the Rohirrim for aid, presenting an arrow whose tip had been painted red, obviously a sign of ancient alliance. Théoden told the man that it would be a week before they could arrive with aid, and he replied, "You are like to find only ruined walls in seven days, unless other help comes. Still, you may at least disturb the Orcs and Swarthy Men from their feasting in the White Tower."   
Despite the urgency, nothing could be done, for the Rohirrim needed rest. They would be no aid if they arrived too exhausted to fight. Worf woke early the next morning, as was his habit, but there was no sun to greet the day. The sky was brown; the brown air was as still as a tomb. He soon learned it came from Mordor, a sign that the war was begun. He quickly woke Merry, lest the young hobbit be found asleep when the king called for him, which happened only minutes later.   
To the hobbit's dismay, Théoden told Merry that he could come with them as far Edoras, but no further. The hobbit rode a pony, which would not be able to keep up with the horses on the open plains as they raced to Gondor's aid. Éowyn pulled him aside and gave him armor, prepared at Aragorn's request. She also clothed Worf in the livery of the Mark. He bore the device of the white horse on a shirt over his mail, since he would carry no shield.   
Coming down to the plains below the Hold, they were met by the assembled forces. There were 5500 fully armed knights, and many more with extra horses bearing only light loads. Worf rode with the king's household, just behind Merry and the messenger from Gondor. He noticed a slender young man watching the hobbit intently, but there was nothing to do about it, and no real reason for suspicion, anyway.   
At Edoras, Merry was finally sent away, unhappy, but unable to do anything about it. Worf glanced back at the young man who had been watching him, only to see the rider approach the young hobbit. He was unable to see anything more, but he noticed that the young man appeared less slender as he rode from then on, as if he were hiding a hobbit-sized bundle. The deception rankled him, but Worf would say nothing; the little hobbit was his only friend on this strange trip, and Merry's presence was a strange comfort. With that, they rode hard the hundred and two leagues to Minas Tirith. 


	18. The Battle for Minas Tirith

A/N: Thanks, GreyLadyBlast and San Antonio Rose, for your reviews on 17, and Europa, Anya, Finch, arnytrek, and Lantarmiel for your recent reviews (and everyone else who has reviewed, too!).

  
Ch. 18: The Battle for Minas Tirith 

During the ride, the riders pretended not to notice Merry. The fourth night, they met the Wild men of the woods. Worf went with Éomer and Théoden to speak to the chief, who called himself Ghân-buri-Ghân. He spoke the Common Tongue with a heavy accent and a deep, guttural voice. He spoke in riddles, but told them many _gorgûn_, as he called the orcs, blocked the way. "We fight not. Hunt only. Kill_ gorgûn_ in woods, hate orc-folk. You hate _gorgûn_ too. We help as we can." As reward, he asked only to be left alone. "If you live after the Darkness, then leave Wild Men alone in the woods and do not hunt them like beasts any more."¹   
The small man led them by forgotten paths around the orc-host. Leaving them, he told them "Kill _gorgûn_! Kill orc-folk! No other words please Wild Men. Drive away bad air and darkness with bright iron!" With that, he touched his forehead to the ground in farewell. Suddenly he perked up and exclaimed "Wind is changing!" before leaving them to finish the journey alone.²   
Sure enough, before long, all could perceive the change in the wind—now a fresh breeze from the south with a sea tang. Théoden turned and spoke to Worf, "Soon we will gather into three _éoreds_ for the attack on the city. Will you lead one of these?"   
Worf considered this for a moment. After a moment, he said, "I am honored by your confidence, my king, but I do not know enough of this world or battle here to lead a company. Instead, let me ride beside Éomer and leave command to one who knows the battles of this world better than I."   
Théoden nodded slowly, then said, "Very well. Let it be as you say."   
With that, the company gathered into three _éoreds_. Éomer's attack force would take the center, and the other two would branch off in each direction once the battle was joined. When they reached the out-walls, they found them scarcely defended. The enemy did not expect attack from behind. The few orcs there were quickly killed or driven off. During the short fray, Worf quickly realized his skills in archery did not extend to shooting from a moving horse, so he rode directly to the fray and used his bat'leth almost exclusively.   
As they approached the city, the riders could see fires and a shadow like death up on the city. It looked like they had come too late. Théoden halted them and the years seemed to weigh down on him once again. Suddenly, the wind picked up and the southern sky began to clear. A great flash, like lightning, illuminated the city for an instant; the towers shone white in the light. The weight gone, Théoden stood in his stirrups and called them to battle in a clear, loud voice, then blew a great blast his horn, splitting the thing in two. Others took up the call and the plains rang with the sound. Worf joined with a great battle cry.   
The king rode off on his white horse like a streak of lightning himself, Éomer and Worf close behind, but none could overtake the king. The hosts of Mordor fled before them. Soon they came upon a great force of the Haradrim, Southern men who served the Enemy, and carried great curved scimitars. Théoden rode to meet them and hewed down any who stood in his way. Worf and Éomer followed close behind, leaving a trail of carnage in their wake. The king took down the chieftain of the men, his spear splintering with his attack. Tossing aside the broken weapon, he drew his sword and in one stroke, took down both the Haradrim's black standard and its bearer.  
In the midst of the triumph, darkness fell suddenly. Horses went wild and the men they threw fell trembling to the ground. Worf jumped off his horse before he could be thrown and held the beast's reins. He stood tall, unwilling to submit to the fear, but he was alone. It took all his will to stand. A great winged creature flew above, like a giant, dark bat, or a dinosaur from earth's past, without feather or quill, leathery flesh forming its wings. As it passed, it left an evil stench. A dart from above felled the king's horse, and Théoden fell crushed beneath the horse. The creature swooped upon its prey, and on it was a black-cloaked creature—the Lord of the Nazgûl himself. Worf had faced the lesser ones before, but now he was frozen.   
Dernhelm alone dared to stand up to the thing. The slender warrior had stayed near the king throughout the battle. He been unhorsed in the Ringwraith's approach, but stood and spoke, "Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!"   
The Nazgûl replied in a cold, unnatural voice, "Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey, or a fate worse than death will await you! No living man may hinder me!"   
With that, the warrior threw back the dark hood, revealing long golden hair, and Éowyn said, "No living man am I! You look upon a woman! I will smite you, if you touch him!" ³   
The Nazgûl hesitated at this, but soon gathered its wits again. With a great screech, the black winged creature attacked her. Watching her face death alone, both Merry and Worf were freed from the paralysis. Worf quickly grabbed his the Elven dagger at his waist and threw it. It barely pierced the thick hide, but the distraction was enough. Éowyn struck and beheaded the creature. The Nazgûl glanced back at Worf, and he found himself again unable to move.   
"I will finish you later, alien!" The Nazgûl screamed at him before turning to Éowyn. He struck with his mace, and Éowyn met it with her shield. There was such force in the blow that it broke her arm. Alone, she would have been killed, but there were two others who had the courage to stand up to the evil thing—one a small hobbit, the other a Klingon warrior. Worf overcame the paralysis once again and pulled the dagger from his boot, and threw it at the thing's sword arm It did a little damage, but not enough. As the Nazgûl turned to face him, it stumbled forward, Merry's sword buried in the sinew behind his knee. With the last of her strength, Éowyn drove her sword through the Black Rider's neck, the sword breaking into millions of pieces. The thing's crown rolled a few feet away, and Éowyn fell forward, upon her enemy, but the black cloak that fell to the ground was empty. A shriek sounded, then faded into a thin wail, and eventually faded to nothing.   
Worf dropped to his knees, exhausted from the effort of resisting the thing, and Merry walked over to Théoden, who bade him farewell. "Farewell! I go to my fathers!"   
Merry, weeping, spoke again, "Forgive me, lord, for breaking your command, but I have done no more in your service than to weep at our parting."   
"Grieve not! It is forgiven." Éomer arrived a moment later, and Théoden King passed out of the land of the living.4  
The nearby warriors stood stunned with grief. Fate was a strange thing: it had brought Merry this far, following his lord against Théoden's orders, and brought Éowyn, as well. Worf, too, was there for some inexplicable reason that went far beyond a freak transporter accident, and despite the strangeness, there seemed to be a purpose to it. The Lord of the Nazgûl was dead. None save the little hobbit and the now stricken young woman could have accomplished this. Even Worf had been frozen until the thing attacked Éowyn. No man could have killed the thing; it's prophecy said so, and but for their presence and a girl's courage, it would have taken the city. Fate was a strange thing, indeed.  


¹ p. 116-7, Return of the King   
² p. 117-20 Return of the King  
³ p. 127 Return of the King   
4 p. 129 Return of the King


	19. A Glimmer of Hope

A/N: Chapter 19 and 20 are short, so I'm posting both of them. After this, there are two more chapters. I've left you with a bit of a cliffhanger at the end of 20.  
Europa, that was one decision I agonized over--whether to send Worf with Aragorn or Théoden. Anya, when I wrote my M*A*S*H crossover, I posted that as I wrote it. I don't want to do that again--too much time pressure. This story was complete before I even started posting. It has evolved a lot thanks to all the input I've received, thanks to all of your reviews, and hopefully for the better. BTW, if anyone still has unexpressed opinions about the ending, let me know!  
Anyway, enjoy!  
  


Ch. 19: A Glimmer of Hope 

A yell broke into Worf's musings. Crying, "Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world's ending!"¹ Éomer King and the remaining Rohirrim rode off to battle, a few remaining to bear Théoden and Éowyn into the city. The headlong charge carried the Riders deep within the Southron ranks. Some of the Southrons rode great beasts like elephants, called _mûmakil_ by the Rohirrim, which frightened the Riders' horses. Worf stilled his horse long enough to shoot one in its eyes, but their hide was so thick little other attack prevailed. When his horse shied away from one, he threw himself off it and hewed at the thing's legs, bring it to its knees before he was forced back onto his horse by the enemy around him.   
The battle continued, but soon enemy reinforcements poured in from nearby Osgiliath, where they waited to take the city. The Rohirrim readied themselves to take all they could with them, but they saw black-sailed ships approaching. The cry went up, "The Corsairs of Umbar are coming! So Belfalas is taken, and the Ethir, and Lebennin is gone. The Corsairs are upon us! It is the last stroke of doom!"²   
With that, Éomer gathered his forces to stand to the last. They would fight until the last fell. Worf spoke for them all, "Today is a good day to die!"  
Suddenly, a new standard unfurled on the lead ship, a white one, bearing the White Tree of Gondor and the Seven Stars and crown of Elendil. The enemy was seized with confusion, and the from the east, the knights of Dol Amroth, led by Prince Imrahil, rode out onto the plain. Éomer attacked from the south. From the north, the Dûnedain leapt from the ships, and leading them, Aragorn with the Flame of the West, Andúril like a new fire kindled, Narsil re-forged as deadly as of old; upon his brow was the Star of Elendil.³ A sense of awe fell on the defenders. They had gone from hopelessness to assurance of victory.  
In the midst of the battle, Éomer and Aragorn were reunited, and along with them, Worf, Legolas, and Gimli. "Thus we meet again, though all the hosts of Mordor lay between us. Did I not say so at the Hornburg?" Aragorn said, before clasping Éomer's hand.³ Pushing back exhaustion, they went back to the rout of the enemy. Soon the only enemy that remained was cold and dead. The battered, bloodied and weary defenders were the only ones left standing.  
The next morning, they woke to a clear sky with light clouds. Legolas found Gimli and Worf early that morning, and after asking leave from Prince Imrahil, they went into the city to visit the hobbits. The companions soon came to the Houses of Healing, guided by one of the Prince's servants. They walked and sat with them, smoking and telling tales. Pippin and Gimli taught Worf to blow circles in the smoke. Legolas was distracted, watching the gulls over the river. Gimli refused to speak of the trail through the Paths of the Dead, but with prompting, Legolas told the tale. Many years before, the people of that place had broken a vow to uphold Isildur and were now doomed to wander the earth without rest until their debt be repaid. Aragorn had summoned them to fight for him, and with their help had taken the Black Fleet. The southern wind aided their return to Minas Tirith, and the rest was common knowledge.  
After all they had been through, it was sheer contentment to sit and smoke and enjoy each others' company. Worf took the opportunity to reflect. The battle had taken him through highs and lows he would never have experienced in his other life. The battle with the Witch King had forced him to face more fear than he'd ever before experienced, and then the grief at Théoden's fall, then he'd joined Éomer on a suicide mission, only to be brought back from the brink by Aragorn's sudden return. In the face of death, he had found a life truer than the one he had known. He was left to wonder what turns fate still held for him. 

¹ p. 131 Return of the King   
² p. 133, Return of the King   
³ p. 135 Return of the King

  



	20. Assault on Mordor

Ch. 20: Assault on Mordor 

After two day's rest, the army of the West assembled again. Merry was too ill to ride with them, but Pippin joined Gandalf, Aragorn, Éomer, Imrahil, Legolas, Gimli, Worf, and the Dúnedain and the sons of Elrond. At the end of the day's ride, they came to a Cross Roads, and the heralds cried, "The Lords of Gondor have returned and all this land that is theirs they take back."¹   
When morning came, they left a guard and rode to the entrance of Morgul Vale. The third day, at a suggestion from Imrahil, the cry of the heralds became "The King Elessar is come! Let all leave this land or yield them up!"² The day after that, they were ambushed by a large group of Orcs and men. The army had received warning from their scouts, and the ambush was easily defeated. Aragorn saw through it easily. It was a feint, meant to deceive them into thinking the enemy weak. That night and from then on, Ringwraiths patrolled their path, silent and high enough only Legolas could see them, but all could feel their dread.   
Finally, the army came to the Black Gate. They went in knowing full well they walked into ambush, that Enemy forces were hidden in the hills, and that the Nazgûl were gathered there in force. Aragorn, Gandalf, the sons of Elrond, Éomer, Imrahil, Gimli, Legolas, and Worf approached the gate; all the enemies of the great Enemy were represented in that group.   
The heralds cried out, "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! The King of Gondor demands that he should atone for his evils, and depart then forever. Come forth!"³   
After a long moment, great drums sounded, then horns that could be felt in the very earth, then finally the gates opened and a rider came forth, wearing black and seated upon a black horse. This was no Ringwraith, but a man, the Lieutenant of the Tower of Barad-dûr. It was all a mind game, and they all knew it. He was intimidating, but held none of the power for terror of the Nazgûl.  
The ambassador was quick to mock them. "Is there any one in this rout with the authority to treat with me? Not thou at least!" He turned to Aragorn. "It needs more to make a king than a piece of elvish glass." 4 Aragorn locked eyes with the Lieutenant, and after a short moment, the Messenger flinched as if attacked. "A herald may not be assailed!"   
Gandalf replied in kind. "Where such laws hold, it is also the custom for ambassadors to use less insolence. You have naught to fear from us, until your errand is done." 4   
"You art the spokesman, old greybeard? Have we not heard of thee ever hatching plots and mischief at a safe distance? But this time thou hast stuck out thy nose too far, Master Gandalf. I have tokens that I was bidden to show thee, if thou shouldst dare to come." 4   
The Messenger held up Sam's short sword, an elven cloak, and Frodo's mithril-mail. The Messenger spoke again. "Sauron does not love spies, and the fate of the spy depends now on your choice." He saw the recognition in their eyes, and that was enough. "His errand has failed. And now he shall endure the slow torment of years, and never be released, unless you accept my Lord's terms." 5   
"Name the terms." Gandalf's voice was steady, but the anguish in his eyes was plain to see.   
"These are the terms. The rabble of Gondor and its deluded allies shall withdraw at once beyond the Anduin, first taking oaths never again to assail Sauron the Great in arms, open or secret. All lands east of the Anduin shall be Sauron's forever, solely. West of the Anduin as far as the Misty Mountains and the Gap of Rohan shall be tributary to Mordor, and men there shall bear no weapons, but shall have leave to govern their own affairs. But they shall help to rebuild Isengard which they have wantonly destroyed, and that shall be Sauron's, and there his lieutenant shall dwell: not Saruman, but one more worthy of trust." 5   
Worf was not the only one to scoff at this demand. Gandalf replied, "This is too much to demand for the delivery of one servant: that your Master should receive in exchange what he must else fight many a war to gain. And why should we trust that Sauron the Base Master of Treachery will keep his part?" 6   
The messenger seemed bewildered at this refusal, bur recovered quickly. "Sauron gives no surety. These are his terms. Take them or leave them!"   
"These we will take!" Gandalf cast aside his cloak and white light shone forth. The Messenger fell back before him, and Gandalf seized the mail, cloak, and sword. "We take these things in memory of our friend, but as for your terms, we reject them utterly. We did not come here to waste words with a slave of Sauron. Begone!" 6 With that, the Messenger's face twisted in anger, and he fled back to the gates. 

¹ p. 178, Return of the King   
² p. 179, Return of the King   
³ p. 182 Return of the King   
4 p. 183 Return of the King   
5 p. 184 Return of the King   
6 p. 185, Return of the King

  



	21. To the Gates of Mordor

A/N 12-15-03:  The end of this chapter has been moved to Ch. 22 in order to comply with the new requirements that all chapters contain story content.  This allows me to comply with the changes without losing reviews.  Sorry for the inconvenience.

A/N: notes and acknowledgements follow in the next chapter. GreyLadyBast, I've fixed that quote (Today is a good day to die). I just misremembered it. I see your points, but I am not going to go back, mainly for time considerations. My defense of the Black Breath issue is that Worf attacked from a distance, while the other two attacked directly. I know it's a weak excuse, but it's what I have. Your thoughts about having Worf succumb and then leaving him in Minas Tirith would work very nicely, but once you read this chapter you'll see why I don't want to do that.

  
Ch. 21: To the Gates of Mordor

With that signal, horns blew and Sauron sprang his trap. The doors of Morannon swung wise, and out of them came a battle host like a river. The captains of the West quickly retreated back to the army, but the enemy attacked from all sides. Aragorn and Gandalf took position on one hill, and Éomer and Imrahil on another, the Dúnedain and the sons of Elrond taking the front facing the Black Gate and Mordor where the battle would be fiercest. 

Along with Orcs, there were Easterling men, and a company of hill-trolls, taller and broader than men. Worf took one, surprising the thing by meeting its force with strength no less than its own. He blocked the first attack with his bat'leth, then broke away from the thing and spun, slicing the weapon across the troll's belly, then spinning again to remove its head. He had to leap back away from it when the carcass fell forward, spewing black blood. Éomer, beside him, stared at him in awe for a moment, before turning to a new opponent. "There is strength in you beyond the grasp of my mind, Worf. I do not know from whence you get your strength, but I am glad to have you at my side!" Pippin took down another troll as it bent down to bite the neck of a fallen warrior. He struck upwards, piercing into its vitals, but it fell on top of him, smothering him, and he fainted to cries of "The Eagles are coming!" ¹ Before they could arrive, though, another troll attacked Éomer. This one was even bigger than the one that Worf had killed. The thing would kill him if no one intervene. Worf grabbed his remaining dagger and threw it before rushing at the troll. It saw him coming and was ready. He blocked the first blow, and the second, and a third, but his strength was waning. The fourth stroke of the thing's weapon cut through Worf's belly just as his bat'leth removed the troll's head.  
The Eagles swooped toward the Nazgûl, but the Black Riders suddenly turned and fled. All the hosts of Mordor trembled in that moment, and the army of the West soon gained the upper hand. Gandalf held them back and would not allow them to pursue. He cried, "Stand, Men of the West! Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom."²   
As Gandalf spoke, the earth below them bucked like a wild horse. Far away beyond the black gate, a darkness came into the sky, and fire. The Black Gate fell to the ground, and a drumming rumble filled the air. A great, enormous shadow rose above the Land of Mordor. It stretched out a terrible hand toward them, but a great wind took it and blew it away.   
  



	22. Final Notes

Ch. 22: End of ch. 21 and final notes  
  


"The realm of Sauron is Ended! The Ring bearer has fulfilled his Quest." ² It was over. They had dared the impossible and somehow, succeeded. Carried by the Eagles, Gandalf flew with all haste into Mordor, to Mount Doon itself.  
Aragorn ran to Worf, but the wound was mortal. "This I cannot heal. I would if I had the strength. I am sorry, my friend."  
"Do not apologize. Today is indeed a good day to die. You have been a good and honorable friend. Now I go to my people. Farewell, lord!" There before the gates of Mordor, Worf, son of Mogh, breathed his last and was welcomed with honor into Sto-Vo-Kor.  
The second of the Fellowship to die, Worf was mourned by all who remained. Aragorn was crowned King of Gondor and married Lady Arwen. The hobbits scoured the Shire and Éomer ruled Rohan for the rest of his life. Life went on, but they all remembered the strange warrior who had come in their hour of need.

¹ p. 187, Return of the King   
² p. 252, Return of the King

  
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story. I never expected to get so many reviews (as I write this I'm at 64). I hope you have enjoyed it. Please accept my apologies for anything that has given offense and times when I haven't been able to re-edit to everyone's satisfaction.  
I know I left you with a sad ending. I decided on it just before posting the chapter. I said there would be two more chapters, but really it ended up being only one because I rewrote the ending (two if you count this page).  
I have a short Gimli romance that I'll be posting shortly (hopefully within a week or two), and several ideas for stories to write after that one is done. My other posted story is a humorous M*A*S*H/LOTR crossover (accessible via my author page).  
  
Specifically, I'd like to thank: arynetrek, Samus, Kookaburra, GreyLadyBlast, KarateElf, San Antonio Rose, Soledad, shirebound, Anya - Ring of Sarcasm, c, Zerah Star, Finch, Karina, Europa, The Evil Old Woman, Meethril, Lantarmiel, CoolGirl89 + Palanantoiel, and B-Elanna. Thanks for all the reviews and advice. Also, thanks to everyone who read but didn't review. God bless you all!


	23. Alternate Ending 1

Ch. 23: Alternate Ending 1  
  
A/N: I said I was done with this, but I've taken that back. GreyLadyBlast asked for this, and she _somehow_ managed to twist my arm (without much effort, I'm afraid :-) ). I'm afraid the writing is even more sparse than usual, since I threw these together rather quickly (the first alternate version is actually my first idea for the actual ending, but it just didn't really fit for Worf). What follows immediately is a version of chapter 21 without Worf being injured. Alternate ending 1 follows in this chapter, and ending 2 is in chapter 24. Thanks to all!  
  
Chapter 21: alternate version  
With that signal, horns blew and Sauron sprang his trap. The doors of Morannon swung wise, and out of them came a battle host like a river. The captains of the West quickly retreated back to the army, but the enemy attacked from all sides. Aragorn and Gandalf took position on one hill, and Éomer and Imrahil on another, the Dúnedain and the sons of Elrond taking the front facing the Black Gate and Mordor where the battle would be fiercest.  
Along with Orcs, there were Easterling men, and a company of hill-trolls, taller and broader than men. Worf took one, surprising the thing by meeting its force with strength no less than its own. He blocked the first attack with his bat'leth, then broke away from the thing and spun, slicing the weapon across the troll's belly, then spinning again to remove its head. He had to leap back away from it when the carcass fell forward, spewing black blood. Éomer, beside him, stared at him in awe for a moment, before turning to a new opponent. "There is strength in you beyond the grasp of my mind, Worf. I do not know from whence you get your strength, but I am glad to have you at my side!" Pippin took down another troll as it bent down to bite the neck of a fallen warrior. He struck upwards, piercing into its vitals, but it fell on top of him, smothering him, and he fainted to cries of "The Eagles are coming!" ¹  
The Eagles swooped toward the Nazgûl, but the Black Riders suddenly turned and fled. All the hosts of Mordor trembled in that moment, and the army of the West soon gained the upper hand. Gandalf held them back and would not allow them to pursue. He cried, "Stand, Men of the West! Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom." ²  
As Gandalf spoke, the earth below them bucked like a wild horse. Far away beyond the black gate, a darkness came into the sky, and fire. The Black Gate fell to the ground, and a drumming rumble filled the air. A great, enormous shadow rose above the Land of Mordor. It stretched out a terrible hand toward them, but a great wind took it and blew it away.  
"The realm of Sauron is Ended! The Ring bearer has fulfilled his Quest." ² It was over. They had dared the impossible and somehow, succeeded. Carried by the Eagles, Gandalf flew with all haste into Mordor, to Mount Doon itself.  
It was in Ithilien that Frodo and Sam, carried back by Gandalf and the Eagles, finally regained consciousness, two weeks later. Sam thought he had dreamt it all for a moment. Frodo was missing one finger. Worf joined the throng that greeted them as heroes. Aragorn himself, the Lord Elessar, bowed before them and set them upon his throne. The hobbits were overwhelmed, but took the attention as well as they could.  
They swapped many stories; Gimli had found Pippin beneath the troll and helped to throw the thing off. Legolas had felt the call of the Sea, as the Lady of the Wood had warned him; it would not be long before he passed over the sea. Frodo and Sam told the story of their long trek into Mordor, and Gollum's attack on the slopes of Mount doom.  
  
Alternate ending 1  
Returning to the city, they were met by Faramir, brother of Boromir, and son of Denethor, steward of Gondor, who had killed himself during the siege. The last steward of Gondor surrendered the city to its rightful king. Faramir brought forth the crown of the city, but Aragorn would not take it from his hand, but rather had Frodo bring it, and Gandalf set it upon his head. With that, the Lord Elessar, heir of Elendil, entered the city and the third age of Middle Earth was brought to an end. A new age had begun.  
Arwen Evenstar arrived with her bothers, Galadriel, Celeborn, and her father, and she and Aragorn were married Midsummer's day. Éomer would still not admit the Lady the fairest of all beings, but claimed rather that the honor belonged to the Queen Arwen Evenstar, and so he and Gimli made their peace. The hobbits returned to the Shire to scour it of the men and rules forced upon them by Sharkey. The Wild Men of the Woods were given the Forest of Druadan as their possession forever, never to be troubled by outsiders. Worf's vow of service had been to Théoden, and Éomer was ready to release him from it, but Worf would have none of it. He stayed in Rohan and served Éomer King of the Mark until the end of his days.  
  
¹ p. 187, Return of the King  
² p. 252, Return of the King   
  



	24. Alternate Ending 2

Ch. 24: Alternate Ending 2  
See Ch. 22: Alternate Ending 1 for the alternate version of Ch. 21  
  
Returning to the city, they were met by Faramir, brother of Boromir, and son of Denethor, steward of Gondor, who had killed himself during the siege. The last steward of Gondor surrendered the city to its rightful king. Faramir brought forth the crown of the city, but Aragorn would not take it from his hand, but rather had Frodo bring it, and Gandalf set it upon his head. With that, the Lord Elessar, heir of Elendil, entered the city and the third age of Middle Earth was brought to an end. A new age had begun.  
Arwen Evenstar arrived with her bothers, Galadriel, Celeborn, and her father, and she and Aragorn were married Midsummer's day. Éomer would still not admit the Lady the fairest of all beings, but claimed rather that the honor belonged to the Queen Arwen Evenstar, and so he and Gimli made their peace. The hobbits returned to the Shire to scour it of the men and rules forced upon them by Sharkey. The Wild Men of the Woods were given the Forest of Druadan as their possession forever, never to be troubled by outsiders.  
Worf went with Elrond to Rivendell, and when the time came, he passed over the sea with the Elves and the Ringbearers. He rested in Valinor for a time, and welcomed Legolas, Gimli, and Sam when they came, but he grew restless. He petitioned Manwë and Varda, and they granted his request. It was late when he returned from their chambers, and he closed his eyes and slept.  
  
Worf woke slowly, bright lights shining in his face. They were harsh and unnatural, nothing like the gentle sunlight of Middle Earth. Julian Bashir rushed over. "Worf, how are you feeling? We nearly lost you! I'm amazed you managed to survive that transporter accident with so few injuries!"  
It took Worf a moment to realize where he was--DS9's infirmary. He was back. Worf stayed on DS9 for several weeks, recuperating from injuries. Bashir was amazed when he saw battle scars that hadn't been there previously, but Worf wouldn't allow him to remove them. The response: "Typical Klingon." _Typical Klingon_. Worf would never again be a typical anything. Before he left, Worf gave Bashir several holo-programs, with titles like _Moria, Amon Hen, Helm's Deep, and Pellenor Fields_. He never told anyone there what he'd experienced. They would never have believed him, anyway. Worf left for Qu'onos, avoiding the transporter, and resumed his work, trying to restore the Empire. He had seen one kingdom restored to its honor and glory. Gondor had been restored by the courage of her king and those who had dared stand with him. Perhaps there was yet a remnant of honorable warriors in the Empire. And maybe by their strength and courage the Klingon Empire could be restored.  



End file.
